by Fiona Lowe
Self-righteous honour filled him. ‘I have a duty to my father and by running KKC I am saving kids’ lives. As a nurse, you surely understand that.’
Her logical gaze pierced him. ‘I do, but you’re not doing it in the best way.’
He hated her unrelenting stare and resorted to sarcasm. ‘And you’d know what the best way is, would you?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got a better idea than you. Right now you’re living your father’s dream, not yours. You know you can’t look me straight in the eye and tell me you’re happy.’
He folded his arms. ‘Being happy isn’t necessarily life’s goal.’
Her face showed signs of exasperation mingled with sympathy. ‘You’re right—but your skills as a doctor make you happy and they help so many people. You have a gift as a doctor and you’re throwing it away. Talk to your father, tell him how you really feel, tell him what you want to do. Reclaim your life.’
Her words bombarded him and he hated the clarity she seemed to have on his situation, which he’d not been able to see. ‘My life is my own now.’
‘You’re deluding yourself if you really believe that.’ She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘A few weeks ago I fell in love with a wonderful, generous and caring man. But today I’ve seen exactly what this wealth and a misguided sense of duty are really doing to you. It’s making you bitter and miserable.’
Bile scalded his throat. ‘If I’m bitter, it’s to do with your betrayal.’
Her eyes flashed for a moment and then the spark faded. She took in a long, slow breath. ‘I didn’t betray you, Will. I loved you. This child is a miracle, conceived in love. But you can’t recognise that. You once said money gets in the way of love. That only happens if you let it.’
She walked toward the door, pausing as she turned the handle. ‘You’re using money to do great things and yet you’re letting it poison you. Goodbye, Will.’
Her quietly spoken words punched him hard as the door clicked shut behind her.
He kicked his rubbish bin hard, his frustration overflowing. What did she really know about his life, about his complicated role in a family dynasty, about his relationship with his father?
He picked up the bin, scooping the balls of paper back into it. Right now you’re living your father’s dream, not yours. The silence in the room bore down on him, heavy with the significance of her words.
His anger fizzled.
In ten minutes Meg, with a few well-chosen words, had reduced his life to the bare bones. How had he missed what was really important to him?
His father’s illness had scared him and he’d made a promise generated by love and fear. And, sure, the business side of things hadn’t done a thing for him, but KKC and the new relationship with his father had energised him.
But Meg was right. He desperately missed medicine, the kids and their parents who made his day. Working in Laurelton had rammed that home loud and clear. When he was practising medicine he was whole.
As each month had passed and his father’s physical frailness had continued, he’d turned more and more to KKC for work satisfaction. He’d convinced himself it was working, that KKC made up for the medicine he missed, that he could do more for patients by providing vital research funds. He was involved in every facet of the submission and allocation process, he was actively building the trust, he was…damn miserable.
Meg was right. He had to talk to his father, had to force the issue of a replacement. His cousin would be perfect for the job—after all, he had more business acumen in his little finger than Will had in his whole body. He had to risk the closeness he had with his father because his own un-happiness might tarnish it in the future.
Suddenly it all seemed so clear and simple. Why hadn’t he been able to see if before? Meg had worked it out way ahead of him.
Meg.
He raised his eyes to the closed door. What had he just done? He sat down hard on his desk chair and ran his hands though his hair. In his fury he’d just driven away the only woman he had ever loved.
The only woman he had ever loved.
The realisation stunned him, and he struggled to breathe.
He loved her.
He swivelled around and stared out the window. What a fool he’d been. He must have loved her for weeks, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own baggage that he’d missed the best thing that had ever happened to him. He thumped his desk with his fist, welcoming the dull ache that radiated up his arm.
And just to stuff things up completely, he’d let his past relationships slither in and dominate his thinking. How had he let that happen?
He stood up and poured himself a large mug of coffee. It had been her unexpected arrival, the different clothes, her unusual hesitancy, combined with the news of the baby and the farm that had completely disarmed him. He’d let Taylor’s legacy march in and take control.
God, he was a fool. Of all the things he could accuse Meg of, being a gold-digger wasn’t one of them. She was forthright, independent, organised but generous to a fault. She’d never asked him for anything except to be a doctor to Laurelton. Hell, she hadn’t even charged him board at Big Hill Farm.
And yet he’d stupidly forgotten all that and had let fly with hurtful words, driving her and his baby out of his life.
He’d been so wrong. The bitter taste of over-brewed coffee scalded his throat, but he didn’t care.
He’d sworn off relationships after Taylor. Yet it had only taken one woman with riotous hair the colour of sun-kissed barley to turn his life upside down and open his eyes to what was really important.
He picked up the phone. He’d put his professional life in order, talk to his dad and then he’d go and see Meg.
If he had to beg for forgiveness, he’d do it. This time he wasn’t going to let the best thing in his life walk away from him.
She’d given him one hell of a wake-up call.
He hoped with every fibre of his being she’d still want him in her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MEG stood on the veranda, staring out across the home paddock, immune to the bright yellow daffodils that usually made her feel full of enthusiasm for the warmer days of spring. Instead, her gaze was riveted on the FOR SALE sign that had recently been nailed to the fence.
In the past four days she’d exhausted every avenue she knew of to generate funds to save the farm. Her brothers were ambivalent, having disengaged from it long ago.
Grief swirled with happiness, making a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. The news of her pregnancy still had her awestruck. Unbelievably, just as her dream of a baby was being realised, her dream of raising her child on the farm was being dashed against the dirt.
Her child.
She would be raising this child alone.
One last dream trampled—the one where she shared the raising of her family alongside a loving partner.
Sharp pain slashed at her and she bit her lip to stop the tears that hovered, now so much a part of her since she’d left Will’s office. For days she’d relived their conversation over and over and over, still shocked that he believed she’d deliberately got pregnant to save the farm. That everything they’d shared had been part of some grand plan devised by her to use him.
She hadn’t been so naïve and stupid as to think Will wouldn’t be shocked or surprised about the pregnancy. But she also knew she’d fallen in love with a man who had so many wonderful qualities that she’d assumed, after the initial stunned reaction, he’d be just as excited about the baby as she was.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he’d accuse her of gold-digging.
She spun around, turning her back on the depressing sign, and walked into the house, returning to packing boxes. She quickly folded a box, creating it from flat cardboard, and started loading it with books. Slowly stacking away her childhood memories, stories she’d read by torchlight under the covers after her dad had kissed her goodnight. Jet ambled in and sat down, watching her with doleful eyes.
She wiped her own eyes and breathed in a shuddering breath. Life was tough. As a farmer’s daughter, she’d never doubted it. But some things were tougher than others. Packing up her childhood memories into a box was a stark reminder of all she was losing. But it paled compared to a life without Will.
‘So, that’s it for this week.’ Meg pasted a smile on her face as her diabetic education group came to a close. She loved her job but the fatigue of early pregnancy was taking its toll. The group were incredibly supportive of each other and Meg left them chatting in the meeting room, knowing that her health-education talks were just one small part of why ten people gathered together each month. Most of the value of the group came from people coming together to share experiences.
Letting her mind go into neutral, she filed away the patient histories and her gaze drifted to the clock. She had another hour to go before she could head home to an exciting night of even more packing.
A soft knock on her opened door made her turn.
Will stood tall, filling the doorway. New lines were etched deeply around his eyes, but apart from that little else looked different. His jeans hugged his long legs and his long-sleeved striped polo shirt picked up the green in his eyes. Casual yet deadly.
Her heart skipped a beat, thrilled to see him. Then reality hit her. He was probably only here to formalise arrangements regarding the baby. She slammed the filing cabinet shut. The clashing sound filled the air between them.
‘May I come in?’
His excessively polite tone ripped at her, reinforcing the loss of their previous shared joyfulness at seeing each other.
‘Take a seat.’ She gestured to a chair opposite her and sat down behind the desk, needing the barrier between them.
He put his hand on the back of the chair, as if he was going to move it to the side of the desk, but after a slight hesitation he left it where it was and sat down.
‘Meg, I—’
‘Meg!’
A frantic voice and running feet propelled Meg quickly out of her chair. She heard the scraping of Will’s chair against the floorboards and knew he was following her.
She almost ran into Jenny D’Angelo, who was cuddling Sarah, her two-year-old daughter. ‘What’s wrong, Jenny?’
‘Sarah was having her afternoon nap and I went in to wake her up and she isn’t right. She’s agitated and restless and it’s not just the normal being slow to wake up.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’m really worried.’
‘We need to examine her.’ Will stepped forward and ushered the terrified woman into the treatment room.
Meg grabbed a stethoscope, passing it to Will before she unwrapped the very pale child from her blanket. The nose-tingling odour of camphor rose strongly from the blanket.
‘Jenny, have you been using camphor rub on Sarah?’ Meg swivelled around so she could see the woman’s face.
The worried mother nodded. ‘She’s had a cold and I’ve been putting it on her chest.’
‘Is there any way she could have got to the container?’
Jenny’s eyes reflected her frazzled state as she tried to think. ‘I rubbed her chest and then she asked for her bottle and I put the container down and…Oh, God, I left it in the cot.’
Meg met Will’s gaze for a moment, the unspoken thought of poisoning almost palpable between them. Each time it happened she was amazed at how in sync they were professionally. Her heart bled that it couldn’t be transferred into their personal life.
‘I’ll check her mouth.’ Will examined Sarah’s mouth for signs of the camphor rub. If Sarah had ingested it, she was one desperately sick little girl.
Quickly, Meg pulled the child’s clothing off her.
Sarah started to sob and then vomited. Sobs turned into screams as the camphor burned her oesophagus.
‘Sorry, sweetie, but we need to take your clothes off. Mummy’s here.’ Meg tilted her head, inviting Jenny to come over and comfort Sarah. ‘We have to wash her, Jenny, and get all the rub off her skin as soon as possible.’
The desperate mother just stood and stared.
‘Jenny, how much does Sarah weigh?’ Will’s calm and quiet voice seemed to focus Jenny.
‘She’s twelve kilograms. Why?’
Deep lines marked Will’s face. ‘We’re pretty certain Sarah has camphor poisoning. We’re going to give her activated charcoal to absorb the camphor and the dose is based on weight.’
‘It’s dangerous?’ The woman shook her head, as if trying to understand what was going on around her.
‘It’s extremely toxic when it’s eaten.’
The flat tone in his voice panicked Meg. She knew he was extremely worried and he didn’t worry unduly.
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Jenny, have you noticed any muscle twitching on Sarah’s body?’
‘No.’ Hysteria encased the word.
Meg quickly passed a bowl of water and washcloths to Jenny. ‘You need to wash her, using a lot of soap and water.’ She put her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘I know you’re scared, but I need your help while I help Will.’
Jenny swallowed a sob and started to wash Sarah.
‘I’ll get the charcoal.’ She crossed the room and opened the drawer, her eyes scanning the containers.
‘Meg, she’s fitting. Get diazepam.’ Will grabbed an airway and inserted it into Sarah’s throat.
Jenny’s gasping cry echoed around the room.
‘Butterfly needle or IV cannula?’ Meg gave him both as she quickly put a tourniquet around the little girl’s arm.
‘Swap you. You hold her and I’ll put in the drip.’ Will waited until Meg had her hand on Sarah before stepping away.
Her mind fired out a list of instructions—control airway before administering charcoal.
The toddler’s body shuddered and Meg marvelled at how Will managed to insert the IV needle and administer the drug. Almost like magic, the diazepam worked and the muscle spasms faded. Sarah lay still but unconscious.
‘Will she be all right?’
Jenny’s fear-laden question lanced Meg and she glanced at Will’s tight face, wanting the same reassurance as Jenny. Knowing it wasn’t going to be on offer.
Will’s mouth firmed into a straight line. ‘We’re doing all we can but Sarah will have to be airlifted out. She needs to be in ICU. I’m sorry, Jenny, but I need Meg’s help here. You must ring the ambulance and relay my words down the phone line. Use the phone on the wall over there.’ Will tilted his head toward the white handset.
For a moment Jenny was silent, but then she straightened as if she’d found a reserve of strength. ‘Of course, Doctor. I’ll do it now.’
Meg stroked Sarah’s blonde hair while she spoke. ‘You’re going to have to intubate her before we give the charcoal, aren’t you?’
Will grimaced and nodded. ‘We need to control her airway. Her respiratory centre is being depressed by the camphor.’
She bit her lip. ‘She’s lucky you’re here.’
His eyes darkened for a moment. ‘I didn’t come here for Sarah.’
Hope surged inside her, rolling through every part of her until it crashed into reason. Will wasn’t there for her either.
‘Once we’ve tubed her, we’ll insert a nasogastric tube and give her the charcoal.’
His words brought Meg’s mind back to task. ‘Right, I’ll get the equipment.’
‘Doctor, I’ve got the operator on the line.’ Jenny held out the phone.
‘Tell them that Sarah has camphor poisoning, she’s being intubated and we require paediatric emergency evacuation.’
Jenny turned back to the call and repeated the message.
The laryngoscope felt cold and heavy in Meg’s hand as she passed it to Will.
Carefully, he inserted the small silver instrument into Sarah’s little mouth. Lines of concentration like trenches deepened on his brow. ‘I can see the vocal cords.’ He put his hand out for the tube.
Meg silently placed the tube into his hand and waited with a syr
inge in the other, ready to inflate the balloon that would hold the tube in place.
‘Gotcha. I’m in.’ He turned and grinned at Meg, relief written all over his face.
Her knees wobbled. She knew the smile had nothing to do with her but she’d take it anyway. It was probably the last smile of his she’d be party to. His prejudice about her would see to that.
‘I’ll bag her and you insert the nasogastric tube—unless you want me to?’ His clear gaze held hers.
The tear in her heart ripped wide open and gaped. Professionally he was always so considerate, a real team player. In the past she’d treasured that. Today it amplified all she’d lost.
‘I’ll do it.’ Her words shot out briskly, trying to give the impression she was in control when really control hung by a thread. She snapped on a pair of gloves, measured the distance from Sarah’s nose to the right angle of her jaw and then the approximate length to her stomach. Meg gently inserted the narrow plastic tube into Sarah’s left nostril, guiding it down the oesophagus.
It felt good to have something concrete to focus on. She clicked a syringe to the end of the tube and pulled back, checking for stomach contents.
Will handed her a stethoscope, pre-empting her next step of checking that the tube was in the correct position. Sarah didn’t need activated charcoal in her lungs and occasionally the tube went into the trachea instead of the stomach.
Injecting air into the tube, Meg listened for the glur-glub sound in Sarah’s stomach. ‘It’s in the right place.’ She whipped the stethoscope out of her ears and quickly taped the tube into position.
‘Swap you back while you administer the charcoal.’ A swoop of heat whizzed through her as their hands brushed on the change-over.
‘Doctor?’ Jenny clutched a notepad. ‘The paediatric team need you to ring them on their mobile and the helicopter is set to arrive in forty minutes.’
‘Thanks, Jenny. I’m sorry you had to do that but we’ve got Sarah stable for the moment.’ He seemed to swallow a sigh. ‘I’m giving her the charcoal now and we’ll monitor her vital signs closely. We’ve had to put a tube into her throat to keep her airway open and a drip so we can give drugs to prevent any more seizures.’
