A Special Kind Of Family

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Thrown…’

  ‘They pushed him,’ she said, horror flooding into her voice as she recalled. ‘Right into the path of my car. I would have hit him but I swerved.’

  ‘You went over the cliff!’ She must have. The road by the river left no room for error.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said bitterly. ‘So my car was on its side right down the bottom of the cliff. I’m lucky I didn’t go into the river. I lay in the car for a bit thinking someone would rescue me-I’m sure the people in the car in front must have seen what happened. But nothing. So finally I kicked my way out of the passenger door, which was suddenly my roof. It was really dark. My shoe came off and I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find my phone. I climbed up the cliff but it took me ages and the dog was lying in the middle of the road. Just lying there. So I sat there in the dark, waiting to get my breath back-waiting for someone to come along. And I thought the dog was dying but he didn’t die. So finally I picked him up and carried him here.’

  ‘If you went over where I think you went over…That’s two-maybe three miles you’ve walked,’ Dominic said, horrified.

  ‘It felt like ten.’ She closed her eyes again. And then she opened them again. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. No, actually, not nothing. I’m thinking you deserve a medal. I can’t believe…’ He shook his head, forcing himself to move on. ‘I need to go back to the dog.’

  ‘The she dog,’ she said cautiously. ‘Elementary mistake. I guess my examination skills leave a bit to be desired.’

  Definitely medical, he thought. Nurse? But now was hardly the time to ask.

  ‘The she dog,’ he agreed gravely. ‘And I think I know why she’s not moving.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s in labour. I’m guessing by the look of her that she’s been in labour for a while. I need to haul out my veterinary books and see what I can do. We’ll give your injection time to work and I’ll take a closer look at those scratches. Meanwhile…’

  ‘Do your best,’ she said, and managed a smile. ‘I didn’t pick she was a she and I didn’t pick she was in labour. I deserve to be struck off. But please…help her. I haven’t lugged her all this way to have her die.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  S HE might well have. The dog was still exactly as Dom had left her. He squatted beside her and winced.

  She was an obvious stray. She wore a frayed collar with no identification. She’d been dumped. She looked emaciated and exhausted and ill almost to the point of death.

  Maybe it would be more humane to put her down, he thought ruefully. As the only person with any medical knowledge for fifty miles, Dom had been called on for veterinarian duty in the past. He had something in his bag that would be fast and painless.

  But…

  But the dog was looking up at him. He’d never seen such pleading eyes.

  He swallowed. It’d be sensible…

  The dog’s gaze wasn’t leaving his face.

  He watched as another contraction rippled through her body. It was weaker than the last. It was a wonder her contractions hadn’t ceased altogether, given what she was going through.

  He did a fast, basic examination. There was no sign of a puppy coming.

  How long had the contractions been happening? Erin had obviously not been in a state to notice, but the fact that the second contraction was weaker than the first told its own story.

  This was an abnormal labour, in a dog near death.

  He couldn’t do a Caesarean section. He’d learned a few basic vet skills, but this was way beyond him. He had no anaesthetist to help him. Even if could find out the dosage, what sort of anaesthetic could he give a bitch so close to death?

  Erin’s heroics aside, what was the sensible course of action?

  She was a badly injured, stray dog in obstructed labour. He knew the logical thing to do.

  But still her eyes pleaded.

  Okay. Soft-touch Doc Dom. He sighed and hit his phone. Fiona McLay was the nearest vet, fifty miles away. She was as soft a touch as he was. Like Dom, Fiona was on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She was nearing seventy, she was wonderful, and when he was having a bad day he reminded himself that if Fiona could do it, so could he.

  She answered on the first ring.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, Fi,’ he said. ‘But I have a problem. Can you give me some advice?’

  The morphine was starting to take effect. Finally. The pain in her foot and in her shoulders was taking a back step.

  She was warm. Gloriously, safely warm. Dominic had loaded the fire, the flames were leaping and the room was fabulously heated. She was still a bit damp but it didn’t matter.

  She could go to sleep, right now.

  She should ring Charles and her parents, she thought drowsily. They’d worry.

  Or not. They’d just assume she’d been caught up at work. They certainly wouldn’t be pacing.

  They’d be furious with her anyway. Maybe they’d even expect her not to come.

  ‘I’d kill her.’

  Out in the hall Dom’s voice sounded startled. Up until now she’d been concentrating on the pain, but now Erin lay back and let Dom’s words sink in.

  ‘If you’re sure…Then I’m guessing it’s been stuck for hours. Yeah, you’re right, there’s no choice. No, you’re right there, too, she’s not going to make it that far. Or that long. She’d be dead before you got here. Thanks for offering anyway, Fi, you’re a hero. Okay, step by step. Yeah, I’ve got the kit you made up for me-not that I ever dreamed of using it. Talk me through it slowly. I’ll write down dosages as we go.’

  Silence followed. She peered around the back of the settee and saw him taking notes. Finally the receiver was replaced. She heard him moving away somewhere further down the hall, the sound of running water in the bathroom, then things being set up on the floorboards by the front door. Just out of sight.

  ‘I know, girl,’ he said, so softly she had to strain to hear. ‘It’s not a great operating table, but I don’t want to move you more than I need to. And I’ve set up the desk lamp so I can see.’

  This was killing her. She wiggled her foot with care. The worst of the throbbing had stopped. That was because she wasn’t standing on it, she thought.

  Okay, she wouldn’t stand on it. She wrapped the rug around her, slid off the settee and wriggled on her backside over the floor. Her shoulders complained but what the heck-what was morphine for? She’d put too much into saving this dog to stop now.

  She reached the doorway and peered round. Dom was intent on the dog. He’d set up a high bendy light so he could see. He was setting up a dripstand.

  She paused, taking in the whole scene. Her dog was lying in the hallway. With the morphine aboard Erin could focus on her surroundings now, taking in the wide, old-fashioned hall, the high ceilings, the massive architraves. And she could also get a good look at this doctor. Dominic Spencer?

  He was youngish, she thought. Mid-thirties? His dark chocolate-brown hair was a bit too long, a bit wavy, with some of it flopping down over one eye. Not too far-like he was a week or so overdue for a haircut. And a day or two late for a shave. And a year or so overdue for an iron. He looked rumpled, she thought. She was used to the men in her life being…groomed. This guy was wearing faded jeans, ancient trainers and an old cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a frayed collar. His top two buttons had disappeared long since.

  He didn’t look like a doctor, she thought. If the sign on the brass plate out the front-plus his actions since she’d arrived-didn’t bear out his introduction she’d have guessed maybe he was the doctor’s artist-brother, who’d maybe cadged a bed over Easter because he was living on the smell of an oily rag.

  But in what he was doing, this guy was proving every inch a doctor. His lean face looked absolutely focused.

  He looked…wonderful. It must be the morphine talking, she thought, dazed. She didn’t respond to men like this. Of all the stupid, hormonal reactions…

  At
least he hadn’t noticed. With the drip started, Dom had turned his attention to his equipment.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  He glanced around-one swift glance that said he was completely preoccupied-then turned back to what he was doing. ‘If you move you’ll hurt yourself,’ he said briefly. ‘Go back to the settee.’

  ‘I’m hurting because of this dog,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll call her Marilyn.’

  ‘Marilyn?’

  ‘As in Monroe. ’Cos she’s gorgeous and misunderstood.’

  His mouth quirked into a trace of a smile. A damned attractive smile, her hormones said.

  No, she told her hormones.

  ‘Marilyn it is, then,’ he agreed. Then his smile died. ‘But I need to tell you she’s not likely to make it.’

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t pick up that she was in labour. I thought she was just fat.’

  ‘You’re hurt yourself.’ He turned back to her, refocusing. ‘Go back to the settee,’ he said. ‘Please. This won’t be pretty.’

  ‘You’re not putting her down?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He motioned to the drip. ‘I’m getting some fluid on board. She’s still having weak contractions. My guess-and I’ve just spoken to the vet in the next town and she concurs-is that she’s been in labour for some time. We think she’s got a pup stuck. Maybe that’s why she was dumped. Maybe she got into trouble giving birth, someone said they’d take her to the vet-maybe to keep kids happy-and then they dumped her. Taking a pregnant bitch to the vet costs money.’ His face tightened. ‘Dumping her would be easier. Throwing her out where you said they did-my guess is they intended her to go in the river. It’s only a guess, but people can be cruel.’

  He spoke like he knew what he was talking about. He spoke like a man with ghosts. She registered it, but only fleetingly. Her foot was hurting, her hormones had taken a back seat to discomfort, and she only had so much registering space possible.

  ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to get the pup out.’

  ‘A Caesarean?’

  ‘I can’t. She’s so weak it’d kill her even if I had the skills-which I don’t.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said regretfully. ‘I’m an accident and emergency consultant.’

  ‘You’re a doctor?’ he demanded, clearly astounded.

  ‘I am.’ She wriggled closer. He was loading a syringe. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Lubricant,’ he said, and the surprise he’d shown disappeared as he turned back to what he was doing. He was carefully filling a syringe full of gel. Then he moved, deliberately blocking her view.

  ‘You’ll kill the puppy,’ she said, appalled. How could he manoeuvre lubricant into a blocked birth canal without…?

  ‘The pup will be dead anyway,’ he said flatly. He was speaking almost to himself. ‘Fiona…my vet friend…tells me if it’s been wedged for hours there’s no chance it’s still alive. She tells me I have a choice. I put Marilyn down now, or I try and get the dead pup out of the birth canal so whatever’s behind can come out of its own accord. If it doesn’t work then I’ll have to put her down, but I intend to try. So if you could shut up…’

  ‘I’m shutting up,’ she said, and pushed herself forward a bit more. ‘But you have an assistant. I may not be sterile but I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

  It was a nasty procedure with an initial nasty outcome. Dom inserted the lubricant with difficulty. He injected oxytocin. He used forceps with even more difficulty. He fitted the forceps just as a contraction hit. He tugged. The thing shifted and suddenly it was there. Just as Fiona had foreseen.

  He glanced back at Erin, who was lying full length on the floor, keeping a light touch on Marilyn’s carotid artery, feeling her pulse, and stroking her ears. ‘One pup,’ he told her softly. ‘Dead.’

  Amazingly, Marilyn struggled, raising her head as if to see. She moaned, a low doggy moan that sounded almost like despair.

  ‘Hush,’ Erin said softly, fondling the big dog’s ears as Dom removed the dead puppy. ‘I know, it’s your baby and I’m so sorry, but you did the best you could. Relax, girl. We’ll take care of it.’

  Her bedside manner was great, Dom thought, though it was slightly more personal than the approach he’d learned in medical school. She was lying nose to nose with her patient.

  ‘And you moaned,’ Erin whispered. ‘That’s the first sound you’ve made since I found you. That has to be good.’ She glanced up at Dom again. ‘What’s happening?

  ‘I’d imagine this pup died in utero some time ago,’ Dom said grimly, wrapping the tiny body in a towel and placing it gently to one side. ‘It’s not completely formed and it’s stiff. That’s why it’s blocked the birth passage.’

  ‘If they’re all like that…’

  ‘The oxytocin’s only so good at getting the contractions going again,’ he muttered. ‘We need a bit of luck…’

  He stopped.

  The pressure behind the dead pup must have been overwhelming. The contraction Marilyn was having now was almost nonexistent, but it was enough. A wobbly, limp body was propelled outward in a rush. Dom caught it as it came-and the tiny bundle moved in his hand.

  Again, Marilyn tried to turn. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ Erin whispered. ‘Leave your babies to Dr Dom. He’s doing it all for you. We’re both in his hands.’

  What was in Dom’s hands was a live pup. Dom peeled membrane away from one tiny nose. He held the tiny creature upside down and gave it a faint jiggle.

  It gave a sound that could almost have been…a bark?

  ‘Dear God,’ Erin said, and burst into tears.

  ‘You cry, you’re out of my theatre, Dr Carmody,’ Dom said, but he was grinning. ‘Some surgical assistant you are.’ He headed down the hall with the pup in his hands. ‘Don’t let her have another contraction till I come back.’

  He needed warm towels. Hell, he’d never anticipated a live birth. Luckily he had heated towel rails in the bathroom. He grabbed the family towels, wrapped the pup in one and tucked another two towels under his arm.

  By the time he got back to the hall Erin had his doctor’s bag tipped out on the floor. ‘Dental floss,’ she murmured in approval as she searched. ‘You’re a man after my own heart. What sort of doctor doesn’t carry dental floss?’

  He grinned, then laid the pup on a towel on the floor right near Marilyn’s head.

  ‘Do we need to clamp and tie the umbilical cord?’ Erin asked doubtfully.

  ‘You’re asking me as a dog expert? Let’s do it anyway.’ Then, as another contraction rippled through, he left the pup to Erin and went back to delivery mode.

  And two pups later it was over. At least he guessed it was over. There was no heartbeat that he could hear inside-there were no signs that there were any more to come. The third live pup slid into the world and Marilyn’s body seemed to sag in relief.

  ‘Don’t you dare die now,’ Erin said to her, almost fiercely. ‘Dr Dom’s getting fluids into you. He’s doing everything he can. You have three puppies totally dependent on you. You can’t die.’

  Not completely dependent, Dom thought ruefully as he watched Erin. Marilyn was lying back, exhausted to the point of death, but as Erin presented each of her pups to her she nosed them with the beginning of maternal interest. As Erin set them at their mother’s teats, they knew what to do.

  Erin was doing everything she could to give these puppies a start in life, and Marilyn was trying herself. The big dog was breathing deeply, evenly, as if she guessed that she had to concentrate on gathering her strength.

  ‘She’s a dog in a million,’ Erin said fiercely, echoing his thoughts. ‘How can they have just thrown her out?’

  ‘It beggars belief,’ Dom said sadly. ‘But that’s life. We just pick up the pieces.’

  ‘You sound like you do it all the time.’

  ‘I’m a family doctor.’

  ‘Yeah, family.’ She gazed up at him, seeming suddenly to realise that she was semi-naked, lying
full length in the hall of…a family doctor. A doctor with a family. ‘Um…how come we haven’t woken your wife and kids?’

  Maybe now wasn’t the time to let her know exactly what his family consisted of, Dom thought. He needed her settled tonight, and if the thought of a wife and kids upstairs would do it, then that’s what she’d get. ‘I’m a family doctor,’ he repeated, with tired humour. ‘In this family we learn to sleep with bombs going off-or sometimes that’s what it feels like. I nap between explosions. Now…’ He looked down at Marilyn, who was almost visibly relaxing. Her eyes were three-quarters closed. The puppies were a living, breathing pile of life, nuzzling her teats. The fire in the living room was sending its warmth out here. Marilyn was safe, and she was delivered.

  ‘You know what? I’m going to leave her right here,’ Dom said. ‘I’ll put a heater out here to make it even warmer, but she looks like she’ll sleep for hours and I don’t want that IV line to move. In the morning I’ll do something about cleaning up her side but it looks like superficial scratches. Fiona told me what antibiotic to give. I’ll clean the mess up later.’ He rose. ‘Which means…’ He looked down at Erin, who was smiling goofily at the pups. ‘You,’ he said. ‘Feet. I’m not leaving them till morning.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘You’re nicely doped on morphine and you could walk another three miles or so. Or not. Dr Carmody, you know very well that your foot has to be attended to, and it has to be attended to now.’

  There was nothing to say. Even if there was a decent rebuttal she was too tired and too drugged to think of one.

  ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said meekly, and held out her hands so he could help her to her feet.

  He didn’t.

  ‘You’ve walked far enough tonight,’ he growled. ‘’You need to come through to my surgery at the back of the house.’ And before she could guess what he intended-or protest-he picked her up again and was carrying her through the house to his clinic beyond.