‘Yeah.’
‘No loss of sensation?’
‘No.’
‘No pain in your back at all?’
‘No. Only in my leg. And my head.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah. Fantastic.’
‘Sorry.’ She managed a smile. She moved up and placed her hand over his, feeding him warmth she thought he’d be desperate for. She was wearing a light jacket but it was already soaked and it held no warmth at all. She needed a blanket. She always carried a blanket in her own car, but this was a hire car. She was lucky she had a medical bag. The bag had been provided by the locum service when she’d agreed to take on this job, but there was no blanket and he must be freezing.
‘I’m as strong as a horse. I’ll live,’ he said curtly, and she blinked.
‘That’s my job,’ she said mildly. ‘To decide that.’ But she smiled again and the tension eased off a bit. Despite his attempt at humour, he was gripping her hand as if he needed it.
‘This is stupid. My face is in the mud. I’m going to try and sit up.’
‘If you try and move before I splint your leg, your brain will be in orbit,’ she told him. She relented a little. ‘It mightn’t be that bad, but your circulation was cut off. I don’t want to risk the bones moving again.’
‘Compound fracture?’
‘Comminuted. The bones are right out of alignment but they haven’t broken the skin.’
‘That’s lucky.’ He tried to smile.
‘Yeah.’ He had courage. She’d have rolled herself off the edge of the cliff by now, she decided. The pain level in that leg would be dreadful.
And all she could do for the moment was wait. She sat on the road, holding his hand, forcing herself to stay still. To stay calm. The morphine would kick in soon and then she could work, but it wouldn’t hurt to wait.
Phoebe was in the passenger seat of her car, staring out with the desperation of a basset who’d been abandoned by the world. Too bad. Phoebe had caused this mess. It wouldn’t hurt her to wait either.
Her car was parked in the middle of the road, though. Maybe that was a problem.
‘No one’s likely to come.’ Harry was obviously thinking as she was thinking. ‘Not this way. Council’s doing road work and the road’s blocked at either end. That’s why I’m running here. I knew the road would be deserted.’ He thought about it a bit more and decided it didn’t make sense. ‘But it wasn’t deserted. How did you get through? The only way through is via the hills-not along the coast road.’
‘The coast road was open when I came last night.’
‘You came last night?’
‘I booked a holiday cottage half a mile south of here.’
‘You’re supposed to be staying at the hospital.’
This was one crazy conversation. He was trying to take his mind off the pain until the morphine kicked in, she decided. OK. The least she could do was help.
‘I can’t stay at the hospital. I have a dog. What do you think caused this accident?’
‘You have a dog?’
‘How’s the pain level?’
‘Horrible. Tell me about your dog.’
‘Phoebe’s stupid.’ She touched his hand again, gave it a quick squeeze and then released it, aware as she did of a sharp stab of reluctance to let it go. This comfort business wasn’t all one way, she thought ruefully. She’d had a sickening shock. She needed his presence as much as he needed hers. ‘The morphine should have taken by now.’
‘Not enough.’
She glanced at her watch and winced. It wasn’t going to get any better than this. ‘I need to splint your leg. How are you at biting bullets?’
‘Do you have a supply of bullets?’
‘Maybe not,’ she conceded. ‘I have a Mars Bar.’
‘I’d throw up.’
‘You’re feeling nauseous?’
‘Horribly.’
‘Don’t throw up until we get your face out of the mud,’ she advised, but she had to move. She lifted her branch and laid it along the back of his leg. It was awful. Rolled up newspapers, the emergency manuals said. They were generally antiseptic and rigid enough to hold. So where were rolled-up newspapers when she needed them?
She was wearing a light jacket-cotton. Formal business. Not enough to give any warmth. But as padding for the splint, at least it’d stop him getting slivers of wood in his leg.
She hauled off her jacket and twisted it round the wood. She laid the makeshift splint along his leg and then carefully started winding bandage along its length. It was impossible to operate in these conditions without shifting his leg slightly and she was aware by the rigidity in his body how much she was hurting him.
‘What sort of dog?’ he muttered and she grimaced. There was real pain in his voice. Maybe ten milligrams of morphine wasn’t enough.
‘Basset.’
‘Why do you have a stupid basset?’
‘I inherited her.’ He was using Phoebe to focus on something that wasn’t pain and she could do the same. ‘My grandma died three weeks ago. She left me Phoebe. I live in North Queensland. Phoebe’s the human equivalent of eight months pregnant. I can’t take her home until she’s delivered the pups. It’s hot up north and the heat would kill her, if she survived the journey. No kennel will take her this far into her pregnancy, and no airline will carry her, so I’m stuck here until the pups are born.’
Harry thought about that and bit on his imaginary bullet some more. ‘That’s why you applied to be my locum?’
‘That’s right.’
Now what? She had the splint in place now. The leg was fixed as rigidly as she could manage. The morphine would be working as well as it could.
It was time to move.
‘You’re sure no one’s likely to come along this road?’ she asked, and he grunted into the mud.
‘Nope. We’re on our own. It’s time to turn me over and check my face hasn’t fallen off.’
‘Does it feel as if it has?’
‘Nope, but this mud pack has done me all the good that it’s going to do me. Let’s go.’
Lizzie was very worried. If she had an ambulance here she’d have him moved immobile onto a fixed stretcher until she’d thoroughly checked that neck and spine. She couldn’t leave him lying in the mud on the side of the road, though. For a start, if he lost consciousness again he could even drown. It was still raining, a steady drizzle that was making her cold to the bone. They’d both have hypothermia if she didn’t move.
So, feeling as anxious as she’d ever felt in her entire medical career, she moved to his shoulders and put her face down in the mud again, nose to nose.
‘I’m going to roll you over now,’ she told him. ‘Don’t try to help me.’
‘If I don’t try to help you then you’ll never do it,’ he muttered. ‘How tall are you?’
‘I’m tall.’
‘You don’t sound tall.’
‘I have a short voice.’
‘I can see you sideways. You look really short.’
‘From where you are I must look eight feet or so.’ She put her hands under his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry but your leg’s going to hurt when I do this. But I want to roll you keeping your back and neck as rigid as possible.’
He forgot about the short bit. She could see him brace.
‘OK. Let’s give it a shot.’
In the end he rolled with ease. There couldn’t be major damage, she decided with relief. He could use his still strong hips to roll himself as she supported his shoulders and neck.
‘Slow,’ she said urgently. ‘Keep it slow.’
A minute later he was lying on his back, practising deep breathing as his leg settled. She took three deep breaths herself and met his gaze. Done. He was still breathing and breathing well. His hands were still moving. There clearly wasn’t an unstable break in the vertebrae.
He was staring up at her with the bluest eyes…
They really were the most extraordinary eyes, she tho
ught, stunned. Or maybe it was just the situation and the relief of having him look up at her with eyes that were lucid.
No. It wasn’t just that. They really were the most extraordinary eyes. His face was mud-stained and etched with strain, the bruise on the side of his forehead was raw and ugly, but she could see laughter lines around his eyes. A wide generous mouth looked as if it was meant for smiling.
He was trying to smile now.
‘S-see,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ After a short pause he added, ‘Maybe you could give me that extra five milligrams of morphine.’
‘You’ve already had it.’ She was checking his chest now, his shoulders, everything she could see of him. ‘I’m sorry but that’s all I can give you.’
‘Damned managing woman.’
‘That’s what I’m famous for. Is it only your leg that hurts?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘I guess it is.’
‘Tell me again why I employed you?’
‘So you can get married.’ She looked uneasily at the car. She was going to have to get him in there. Somehow.
‘You can’t lift me.’
‘No.’
‘But you can’t leave me sprawled in the road for some other dingbat city doctor to run down.’
‘How many dingbat city doctors do you have around here?’
‘Ha,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘You admit it. Dingbat city doctor. That’s an admission of guilt if ever I heard one. Where are witnesses when you need them?’
‘There’s always Phoebe.’
‘Phoebe?’
‘My basset.’
‘Right. Your mother-to-be.’
‘You know, if you just shut up for a minute I might be able to think of a plan.’
‘Yeah?’
He was mocking her. ‘Yeah,’ she said, temporarily distracted. ‘I might.’
‘It’s a hard call. You help me haul myself into your car or…or what?’
‘I’ll think of something.’
‘Fine. Let’s get me into the car first.’
‘And if you’ve broken your back?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s my back. I’d know.’
‘Like you’ve got an X-ray machine.’ Her panic must have shown through, because suddenly the roles changed. He reached out and grasped her hand.
‘Lizzie, I don’t have a broken back,’ he told her in a voice that was suddenly stronger than hers was. ‘You’ve splinted my leg. I have nerve endings tingling all over the place, which tells me I’m fine. But bruised. I’m feeling sleepy already, which will be the morphine taking effect. If you wait any longer the morphine is going to put me to sleep and there’s no way a runt of a little thing like you can drag me unconscious into the car.’
‘I’m not a runt of a thing.’ She was running her spare hand along the side of his neck, checking, checking…
But he was staring up into her face, and he was still gripping her hand, and she was suddenly absurdly aware of how close they were. Which was ridiculous. She was a doctor. He was a patient.
‘Lizzie…’ His voice was starting to slur a little and his other hand came up and grasped her fingers. Which made her even more aware of his closeness. His maleness.
His…need?
‘You can’t do any more for me here in the mud,’ he said softly. ‘This is going to hurt me more than it is you.’
‘I know. That’s why-’
‘Let’s just do it and talk about it later.’
It was a nightmare. Her car was way too small. She reversed it so her rear car door was right beside him but every movement must have sent shards of pain shooting down his injured leg.
She saw his agony but there was nothing she could do about it. Somehow they managed to haul him up into a sitting position on the end of the back seat. Then she supported the leg as best she could while he dragged himself backwards right in. By the time he was safely in, his face was so drained of colour she was afraid he’d pass out.
‘Just don’t let the dog near me,’ he muttered as she hauled the seat belt around him. Phoebe was in the front passenger seat, her great nose drooping over the back support as if she was incredibly concerned with all that was going on. And shocked. And sad.
That just about summed Phoebe up, Lizzie thought bitterly. Concerned, shocked and sad. That’s what her eyes said, but in reality what was going on was a deep internal pondering as to when dinner could be expected to appear. As this deep pondering started approximately two seconds after she’d finished last night’s dinner, it didn’t leave much brain room for anything else.
‘Phoebe won’t jump on you,’ Lizzie told him. ‘She doesn’t do jumping. I don’t think she knows what it is. Are you OK?’
‘No. I have a broken leg. Can I have some more morphine?’
‘You know very well you can’t.’ She cast him a really worried glance. ‘It must really hurt.’
‘You’re not supposed to say that,’ he said faintly, and there was that amazing trace of laughter in those amazing eyes. ‘It should be, “Come on, lad, pull yourself together. You’ll be right by morning. Take an aspirin and have a nice lie-down and give me a call…” Are you sure I can’t have any more morphine?’
‘I’ll get you to hospital and get you settled first.’
‘So if I go into cardiac arrest you can resuscitate me.’
‘That’s the ticket.’
‘Maybe I could just cardiac arrest for the next few minutes so I could pass out on the way.’
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’ The seat belt clicked into place, but she was still leaning across him, staring worriedly into his face. ‘I’ll drive really, really carefully.’ She took a deep breath and straightened away from him. ‘Besides, you can’t go into cardiac arrest. Don’t you have a wedding to go to?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Maybe not.’
‘Emily will have kittens.’
‘Emily being your fiancée?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, she can have kittens and Phoebe will have puppies and they’ll all live happily ever after. Meanwhile…I’m sorry, Dr McKay, but there’s no easy way to do this. Let’s get you to hospital.’
CHAPTER TWO
Memo:
I will not scream.
I will not panic.
I will not tell this crazy woman and her crazy dog to get out of my town this minute.
I will remember that I might just need them…
BY THE time they reached the tiny township hospital Harry was grey. His face was etched with pain and he was holding himself rigid. Lizzie steered her car into the entrance of the tiny emergency department, switched off the engine and put her hand on the hooter.
‘Don’t do that,’ he told her. ‘They’ll think I’m an emergency.’
‘You are an emergency.’
‘I’m fine.’
Ha! She was past arguing. ‘You might be fine, but I’m not,’ she told him. ‘I’m wrecked. Is the duty doctor here now or will he or she have to be called in?’
‘Duty doctor?’
‘Duty doctor.’ She was suffering from reaction here. Why didn’t a whole medical team burst from the doors, ready to take over?
‘There’s no duty doctor. There’s only me, and I’m decidedly off duty.’ Harry’s voice was strained to breaking point and Lizzie stared at him in horror.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘You mean…’ She caught her breath, appalled. ‘You mean this is a one-horse town?’
‘A one-doctor town. Yes. That’s why I need a locum.’
‘They didn’t tell me it was a one-doctor town.’ The doors were finally opening now, and a uniformed nurse was hurrying toward them. The nurse was eye-catchingly lovely, in her early thirties maybe, trim, and elegant and…well, just plain beautiful. Her long black hair was braided into a severe rope hanging over her shoulder almost to her waist. Her ha
ir would be gorgeous unbraided, Lizzie thought inconsequentially. More gorgeous. The woman herself would be even more gorgeous if she didn’t look so worried.
She wasn’t the only one worrying. Lizzie was distracted enough not to be worrying about someone else’s worry. She should be worried about the man on the back seat-she was-but she was also appalled at the thought of not having help.
‘The people at the locum agency told me one of the doctors was getting married and needed a fill-in,’ she said slowly, thinking it through. ‘One of the doctors. Implying several.’
Harry closed his eyes, an unmistakable wash of pain sweeping through. ‘If they said one of the doctors then they lied.’
‘But… I would never have come if…’ Her voice rose in panic. ‘I don’t do this. Not alone. I can’t.’
‘Welcome to Birrini, Dr Darling,’ Harry muttered, his face grim. ‘I think you’ll find you can. It’s amazing what you can do when you have no choice.’ Then, as the nurse reached the car and pulled open the back door, he managed a strained smile. ‘Hello, Emily. This is Dr Darling. Our locum. She’s here to replace me. It was to be while you and I got married, but maybe now it’s while she mends my broken leg.’
She couldn’t worry about her lone status now. Like Harry said, she had no choice.
Once in the relative security of the hospital she turned on her autopilot. Never mind that she was soaked to the skin. Harry needed her more than she needed to take care of herself.
Medicine first, she told herself, and tried to stop the tremors sweeping through her body. Her spare clothes were back at the holiday cottage. She’d worn a smart little business suit into town to meet the medical community. The smart little business suit was now a bedraggled mess, with the jacket wrapped around Harry’s splint. Lizzie’s mass of bright blonde curls had been hauled into a neat businesslike knot when she’d set out that morning but that was a thing of the past, too. Her curls were now hanging in soaked tendrils around her face, mud-matted and coldly dripping.
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
At least Harry was being warmed. She could examine him now with considerably more care than her roadside check, and she did so as she and Emily stripped him and dried him and gently manoeuvred him into a hospital gown.
In Dr. Darling’s Care Page 2
