The Australian's Desire (Mills & Boon By Request)

by Marion Lennox, Lilian Darcy, Lilian Darcy

  ‘So Alistair’s taking you home,’ she said, casting Alistair an almost approving glance before stooping and tugging the little boy close.

  ‘He said he was your friend,’ Davy whispered.

  ‘Of course he’s my friend.’ She hugged the little boy hard and then put him away from her, holding him at arm’s length. She glanced up at Alistair and surprised a look of concern on his face. Well, well. The guy had a human side.

  ‘OK, let’s go find your mum and see if we can help until your dad comes back,’ she said.

  ‘That’s just what we were doing,’ Alistair said. ‘But you’re very welcome to join us.’

  The hut was one of the most poverty-stricken dwellings Alistair had ever seen. The smell hit him first—an almost unbelievable stench. Then they rounded a stand of palms and reached the hut itself. Consisting of sheets of rusty corrugated iron propped up by stakes with a roof of the same iron weighted down by rocks, it looked more a kid’s cubby hut than a real house.

  ‘My God,’ he whispered, and Georgie cast him a warning look.

  ‘Most of these houses are better,’ she said. ‘But they’re mostly used by itinerant fishermen, not by full-time residents. Even so … This hut is a long way from any other for a reason. Davy’s dad is … not very friendly.’

  He was starting to get a clear idea of Davy’s dad and it wasn’t a flattering picture. What sort of man left a wife who’d just given birth while he joined a fishing competition?

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Georgie said grimly, watching his face and guessing his thoughts. ‘Stay out here for a moment and I’ll see what’s happening.’

  She ducked inside the lean-to shed, leaving him outside, trying to ignore the smell.

  Her inspection lasted only seconds. ‘Come in,’ she called, and something in her voice prepared him for what was inside.

  The hut consisted of a rough chimney at one end with a dead fire at the base, a table and an assortment of camping chairs in various stages of disrepair. There were two double-bed mattresses on the floor and that was the extent of the furnishings. There was a baby lying in the middle of one mattress, wrapped neatly enough in a faded blue blanket. On the other bed were two little girls, four and two maybe. They were huddled as closely as they could get to a woman lying in the middle of the bed. The woman looked like she was sleeping. But …

  ‘She’s almost unconscious,’ Georgie said, stopping his deepest dread before it took hold. ‘The pulse is really thready and she’s hot as hell. Damn. I need an ambulance. There’s no cellphone reception down here but I’m driving the hospital car. It’s parked up on the bridge and there’s a radio in that. Right. The mum’s Lizzie. The little girls are Dottie and Megan—Megan’s the littlest—and this is baby Thomas. Take care of them. I’m fetching help.’

  She left before he could answer.

  Help.

  This wasn’t exactly familiar territory. He was a neurosurgeon. He was accustomed to a hospital with every facility he could possibly want. He’d reached the stage in his career where he was starting to train younger doctors. He’d almost forgotten this sort of hands-on medicine.

  ‘Is she dead?’ Davy whispered, appalled.

  ‘No.’ He hauled himself together. He was the doctor in charge.

  ‘She’s not.’

  Move. Back to basics. Triage. He did a fast check on the baby—asleep but seemingly OK. He loosened the blanket and left him sleeping. Then he crossed to the mattress, stooped and felt the woman’s pulse. It was faint and thready. The two little girls were huddled hard against her, big-eyed with terror.

  ‘Davy, I need you to take your sisters onto the other bed while I look after your mother,’ he told the little boy. He made to lift the first girl but she sobbed and pulled away from him.

  ‘He’s going to make our mum better,’ Davy said fiercely. He grabbed her and pulled. ‘Dottie, get off. Now.’

  ‘I promise I’m here to help,’ Alistair told them, and smiled. One of the little girls—the littlest—had an ugly bruise on her arm. And a burn on her knuckles. He winced. He remembered this pattern of burn mark from his training. Once seen, never forgotten.

  ‘I’m here to help you,’ he said softly. ‘I promise. Dottie, Megan, will you let me see what’s wrong with your mum?’

  ‘He’s Georgie’s friend,’ Davy said stoutly, and it was like he’d given a password. They shifted immediately so he could work. But they watched his every move.

  Alistair smiled at them, then turned his attention to their mother. He didn’t know how long it would be before help came. With a pulse like this …

  The woman’s eyelids flickered, just a little.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he said softly, and then more urgently, ‘Lizzie.’

  Her lids lifted, just a fraction.

  On a makeshift bench there was a jug of water, none too clean, but he wasn’t bothering about hygiene now. The woman had puckered skin, and she was dry and hot to the touch. A severe infection, he thought. The bedclothes around her were clammy, as if she’d been sweating for days.

  He poured water into a dirty cup—there were no clean ones—swished it and tossed it out, then refilled the cup. In seconds he was lifting her a little so he was supporting her shoulders and holding the mug to her lips.

  She shook her head, so fractionally he might have imagined it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. ‘Lizzie, I’m Dr Georgie’s friend. Georgie’s gone for help but I’m a doctor, too. You’re dangerously dehydrated. You have to drink.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Lizzie, drink.’

  ‘Drink, Mum,’ Davy said, and Alistair could have blessed him. The woman’s eyes moved past him and found her son.

  ‘You have to do what the doctor says,’ Davy quavered. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend. Drink.’

  She closed her eyes. He held her mug hard against her lips and tilted.

  She took a sip.

  ‘More,’ he said, and she took another.

  ‘Great, you’re doing great. Come on, Lizzie, this is for Davy.’

  He pushed her to drink the whole mug. Sip by tiny sip. She was so close to unconsciousness that it seemed to be taking her an almost superhuman effort.

  These children were solely dependent on her, Alistair thought grimly. And she was so young. Mid-twenties? Maybe even less. She looked like a kid, a kid who was fighting for her life.

  He could help. He poured more water into a bowl, stripped back her bedding and started sponging her. ‘Can you help?’ he asked Davy. ‘We need to get her cool.’ As Davy hesitated, Alistair lifted Lizzie’s top sheet and ripped. OK, this family looked as if they could ill afford new sheets, but he’d buy them himself if he had to. He handed a handful of linen to each of the children.

  ‘We need to keep your mum wet,’ he said. ‘We have to cool her down.’ He left the woman’s flimsy nightgown on and simply sponged through the fabric.

  It was the right thing to do, on all sorts of fronts. It helped Lizzie, but it also gave the children direction. Megan seemed a bit dazed—lethargic? Maybe she was dehydrated as well. But Dottie and Davy started working, wetting their makeshift washcloths, wiping their mum’s face, arms, legs, and then starting again. It kept the terror from their faces and he could see by the slight relaxing of the tension on Lizzie’s face that it was doing her good. Cooling or not, the fact that there was another adult taking charge must be immeasurably reassuring.

  He poured another drink for the little girl—Megan—and tried to persuade her to drink. She drank a little, gave a shy smile and started sponging as well.

  Brave kid.

  Then, faster than he’d thought possible, Georgie was back. She’d run in her bare feet, and she’d hauled an oversized bag back with her.

  ‘This stuff is always in the hospital car,’ she said briefly as his eyes widened. ‘Emergency essentials.’ When she saw what he’d been doing, she stopped short. ‘Fever?’

  ‘I’m guessing way above normal. But she’s drunk
a whole mug of water.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s great.’

  But Lizzie was no longer with them. She’d slipped back into a sleep that seemed to border on unconsciousness.

  No matter. Her pulse was already steadying.

  ‘Great work, kids,’ Georgie said, setting her bag down on the floor and hauling it open. ‘With workers like you guys, you hardly need me, but now I’ve brought my bag … let’s see if what I have here might help her get better faster.’

  They worked as a team. The bag was magnificently equipped. Within minutes they had a drip set up and intravenous antibiotics and rehydration were started. Georgie had lugged an oxygen cylinder with her and they started that as well. Covering all bases.

  ‘Oh, God, if we hadn’t come …’ Georgie whispered.

  It didn’t bear thinking about. They both knew just how close to disaster the woman had been.

  ‘Check the baby,’ he said. He hadn’t had time to give the children more than a cursory check, but while they were setting up the drip Davy had lifted the baby onto his knees and was cuddling his little brother. Davy—all of six years old with the responsibility of this entire family on his shoulders.

  ‘Will you let me see him?’ Georgie said softly to Davy, and Davy glanced up at her as if he was still uncertain who to trust. She smiled down at him—a tender smile that Alistair hadn’t seen before. Another side of Georgie?

  Davy relinquished his bundle and Alistair thought, Yeah, I would too if she smiled at me like that.

  Crazy thought. Concentrate on work.

  Georgie lifted the bundle into her arms, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She laid the baby on the end of Lizzie’s bed, removed his nappy and started cleaning.

  Was this the sort of thing doctors did here? Alistair wondered. Medicine at its most basic.

  ‘Has Thomas been drinking?’ she was asking Davy.

  ‘I dripped water into his mouth when he cried.’

  ‘Good boy,’ Georgie said in a voice that was suddenly unsteady. ‘You’ve done magnificently, Davy.’ She glanced across at Alistair. ‘I’ll leave the nappy off. He’s hot as well, and probably dehydrated, like his mum. We need a drip here, too, I reckon.’

  Alistair checked the bag, and found what he needed. He swabbed the tiny arm, preparing to insert a drip.

  ‘You can do this on newborns?’ Georgie queried. Veins in neonates were notoriously difficult to find.

  ‘I’m a neurosurgeon,’ he told her. ‘Paediatrics is my specialty.’

  ‘We don’t want brain surgery here,’ she whispered. ‘We just need the ability to find a vein.’

  Which he did. The syringe slid home with ease and he sensed rather than saw the tension leave Georgie.

  She cared about these people, he thought with something akin to shock. He wouldn’t have thought it of her. But, then, she was an obstetrician. She just hadn’t acted like one the first time he’d met her.

  There was the sound of a siren, from far away but moving closer.

  ‘Davy, can you go up to the road and show them where to come?’ Georgie asked, but as Davy rose Alistair gripped his hand and held it.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘Dr Georgie has done everything we need to do here. Davy, your mum’s going to be OK, and so is the baby. You found help. You’ve done everything right.’

  The little boy’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Go and get the ambulance officers with Dr Alistair,’ Georgie said to him. ‘And that’s the last thing we’ll to ask you to do. We’re taking you all to hospital where we can give you all a great big meal, pop you all into a lovely comfy bed near your mum and let you all have a long sleep until your mum is better.’

  There was one last complication. They wouldn’t all fit into the ambulance.

  Megan was definitely dehydrated. Thomas hadn’t been fed properly, maybe for twenty-four hours. He needed a humidicrib and intensive care. And Lizzie was waking a little more now, emerging from her semi-conscious state but moving to uncomprehending panic.

  She was gripping Georgie’s hand as if it was her lifeline. Every time she opened her eyes she searched in panic for Georgie. So Georgie had to go with her. Which made four in the ambulance. Lizzie, Megan, Thomas and Georgie.

  ‘I can’t go to hospital,’ Lizzie murmured as the ambulance officers shifted her to a stretcher. ‘Smiley’ll kill me.’

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe I’ll kill him first,’ Georgie said fiercely. ‘So it should be quite a battle. Lizzie, you’re moving out of here. I told you last time and now I’m insisting. And you needn’t be afraid of Smiley. If you agree, I’ll swing it so he never comes near you again. We’ll organise you safe housing. I swear I’ll fix it.’

  Alistair blinked. These weren’t calming, reassuring words to a desperately ill woman. But it seemed to work. Lizzie slumped back onto the stretcher and the tension seeped out of her.

  ‘You’re one of us,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God. Oh, Georgie, thank God.’

  ‘Right to go?’ the senior ambulance officer asked. These two may be ambulance officers but they didn’t look like ambulance officers. They looked like fishermen.

  ‘I stopped you fishing,’ Lizzie whispered, becoming more aware of her surroundings.

  ‘Nah,’ the man said. ‘The competition got called off half an hour ago ‘cos the wind’s getting up. Phyllis Dunn won. She wins every bloody year. Mind, she always ends up raffling her prize in aid of the hospital. Going to Fiji isn’t Phyllis’s style.’

  What sort of town was this, where the ambulance officers went fishing while they were on duty? Alistair wondered. The younger officer looked at Alistair and grinned, guessing his thoughts.

  ‘Hey, you needn’t worry, mate,’ he said. ‘We had the ambulance parked right behind us while we were fishing, and most dramas were going to happen on the river anyway. Right?’ he queried his partner, and they lifted the stretcher. They’d have to carry it—there was no car access here.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Georgie said. She was cradling the baby in one arm and cuddling tiny Megan in the other.

  ‘Let me carry them,’ Alistair said, but as Megan buried her face in Georgie’s neck, Georgie shook her head. She gave a rueful smile. ‘Megan knows me,’ she said. ‘And Lizzie trusts me. It’s easier if I sweat a bit. But we need Dottie and Davy to go with you. Davy, you know that Dr Carmichael is my friend?’

  Davy knew what was coming. He gulped but then he looked up at Alistair and what he read in his face seemed to satisfy him. ‘Y-yeah.’

  ‘I want you to help Dr Carmichael drive my car,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s an American and they don’t even know what side of the road to drive on. And, Davy, I want you to hold Dottie’s hand and take her with you. Will you do that? Dottie, will you do that? We won’t all fit in the ambulance and Dr Carmichael will bring you straight to the hospital to be with your mum.’

  There was a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Davy whispered to Dottie, and once more he repeated his mantra. ‘He’s Georgie’s friend.’

  Dottie stared up at him dubiously, but then seemed to come to a decision. She tucked her hand into Alistair’s and held on.

  ‘The key’s in my pocket,’ Georgie said.

  Really? In her pocket? There was a distracting thought coming from left field. He wouldn’t have thought there was room for anything at all in those tight-fitting leathers.

  She had no hand free to get them out. And he had one hand free.

  ‘Front left,’ she said patiently.

  Front left. Right. Surgical removal of car keys. But, hell, those pants were tight. Hell, those pants were …

  Maybe he’d better concentrate on other things. Dottie was holding his hand, waiting for him to get on with it. The younger ambo officer was looking at him and grinning, and he just knew what the guy was thinking.

  What the hell. He grinned back and retrieved the keys, almost managing to keep his thoughts on the job at hand. Almost.

  But
as the keys came free he had room for another thought. What Georgie had said.

  ‘Australians drive on the left.’

  ‘We do,’ Georgie said patiently. ‘Problem?’

  ‘You want me to drive Davy and Dottie to the hospital in your car?’

  ‘In the hospital car. That’s the idea, Einstein.’ She was back to being tough. Any minute she’d start with the gum chewing again. The ambo boys were looking at her in surprise but he didn’t have time to think about why she was being like she was.

  ‘Look, this’ll be the first time I’ve driven on the left … I’m not covered. Insurance-wise, I mean. If anything happens to the kids …’

  ‘Here we go,’ Georgie said, and sighed. ‘American insurance paranoia.’ The ambos had already started carrying the stretcher to the door and she was moving with them. ‘Firstly, there’s no one around to crash into,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It’s midday, and only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Or Yankee neurosurgeons. So the roads will be deserted and there’s no one to hit. Second, it’s a straight line from here to the hospital. You can follow the ambulance. If you’re nervous then move over and tell Davy to drive. He’s probably as competent as you are.’

  And with that she left, leaving him to follow.

  The hospital was just as he remembered it. Long and low and cool, open to the ocean breeze. Actually, the ocean breeze was more than a breeze at the moment. The surrounding palms were tossing wildly, and the sea was covered in whitecaps. But the place still looked lovely. If you had to be sick this was one of the best places in the world to be.

  Alistair pulled up in the car park and took the two children inside.

  The children hadn’t complained as their mother had left. Now they took a hand apiece, infinitely trusting. He felt really off balance, walking into Crocodile Creek Hospital Emergency with a child on each hand.

  The ambulance was in the unloading bay, already unloaded. He hadn’t followed it closely, preferring to travel slowly and safely. For all Georgie’s reassurance, the left-hand-drive thing was a challenge, and having two small passengers made him careful.