Found: A Father For Her Child
Amy Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all those health care

workers, agencies and volunteers who help with

society’s poor and disadvantaged. Thank you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

TWO more weeks. Two more weeks. Two more weeks. The words reverberated around Charlie Wentworth’s head in time with the squeak in his back wheel. Two more weeks until he could start living again. The regular Sunday visit with his parents had left him with that familiar bitter taste in his mouth. Between his family’s overt disapproval, the uncertainty over his health and tomorrow’s invasion from the hospital administrator, he had a lot on his mind.

All he had to do was get through the next fortnight. Go through the motions. Co-operate with the hospital hatchet-wielder. See his patients. Take his meds. Keep focused. Go get the blood test. Wait for the results. Then he could get on with living.

Unless the test results were bad. Then what the hell was he going to do? He stepped on the accelerator out of pure frustration. He felt like his life had been on hold for years. The separation, the divorce and now this. The ancient Datsun strained and protested, gaining steadily on the car in front, and Charlie eased his foot off the pedal. Blowing the gearbox wouldn’t bring the next fortnight to a close any faster.

Carrie Douglas flicked her gaze to the rear-view mirror and tensed as the car behind surged closer. Her headlights stabbed into the darkness and she prepared to dip her high beam. She could see Dana’s blonde head slumped to one side, her cute face relaxed in a deep sleep, her ancient blanky snuggled against her cheek.

The other car fell back to a safe distance again and she relaxed. Driving at night on an unfamiliar road made her nervous. Carrying such precious cargo intensified the feeling. It was at times like these one realised that there was only so much as a mother you could do to protect your children. So much more was out of your control.

Thoughts about the job she was starting tomorrow turned over and over in her mind. The hospital was sending her in to sort out the financial mess of one of their inner-city outreach programmes. As far as projects went it looked pretty tedious but with her business and medical degree, she was perfect for the job.

And it wouldn’t be long now until her hard work paid dividends. There were rumours she was being considered for promotion to department head. Both Anaesthetics and Paediatrics were coming up for renewal. From there it would be an easy springboard into the real management hierarchy. In five years she was hoping to make Deputy Medical Director. Glass ceiling be damned!

It was the only thing in her life that mattered other than Dana. She needed financial security for her daughter and herself and to show everyone that her unplanned career diversion had been successful. Losing sight of her goal was not an option. She’d even left her sister’s wedding before the bride and groom so she could catch a decent eight hours’ sleep to ensure she was in good condition for tomorrow’s job.

Carrie saw the headlights of an approaching car illuminate the horizon and adjusted her headlights in preparation. She chewed at her bottom lip, going over everything in her head as the approaching car grew bigger. She glanced in the rear-view mirror again. The car behind was keeping a respectful distance.

Charlie was pulled out of his brooding thoughts in an instant as he noticed the drift of the oncoming car into the path of the car in front of him. Into his path. He became instantly alert, braking reflexively and at the same time noticing the brake lights of the car in front. Great, just the way his luck was running!

He swore as the car crossed the middle line, putting it on a collision course with the car in front.

Letting out an expletive, Carrie stomped on the brake pedal as the fancy red vehicle bore down on her. Her entire life flashed before her eyes. For a split second the world stopped. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that nothing else registered. It pounded so frantically in her chest her whole body shook with its agitated rhythm. And then panic and instinct took over and she pulled hard on the steering-wheel. Please, God, don’t take me away from Dana.

Carrie held her breath as the red car passed in a blur. For a split second she thought she was safe. But then the red car clipped the rear of hers and she felt her head snap forward, her seatbelt snap tight and her head fling back again, slamming into her headrest as her vehicle spun wildly round and round in the centre of the road.

Charlie swore again as the red car’s trajectory changed on contact with the car in front.

It flipped, rising up over his Datsun, narrowly missing him. He looked in his rear-view mirror as it made contact with the road behind him, smashing into the bitumen and rolling several more times before coming to rest on its wheels in a mass of mangled metal and shattered glass. The remaining headlight shone brokenly on the unmoving form lying in the middle of the road.

‘Dana,’ Carrie called, turning frantically, ignoring the pain in her neck as they came to a stop in the middle of the road. Her daughter’s eyes fluttered open briefly and then she stuck her thumb in her mouth and stroked her blanky against her cheek. Carrie’s mother had always said Dana could sleep through an explosion.

Carrie felt a surge of relief so intense she almost floated out of the car. Dana was fine. Dana was fine. Her baby was fine. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Carrie felt an overwhelming urge to sink to her knees on the road and kiss the ground. She laid her forehead against the steering-wheel and took some deep calming breaths, the immediate shock giving away to the euphoric feeling of having just dodged a bullet.

It took a few seconds for the doctor in Charlie to respond to the inert form lying on the road, shock blunting his reactions. He opened his door, knowing he had to get to the victim lying on the road. But his eyes flicked to the other car that had come to a standstill in the centre of the road not far from him. The person inside was sitting at the steering-wheel, unmoving. Was this person also injured? Two potential victims.

The golden rule of triage—the most critical first. He looked back at the person on the road. Was he even alive? Could he have survived being flung out of a vehicle at high speed? He doubted it. He ran to the first vehicle and wrenched open the door.

‘Are you OK?’

Carrie startled at the brisk demand coming back from the quagmire of her shock. Her heart was hammering like a runaway train, her hands still gripping the steering-wheel. Was she OK? She’d been too concerned with Dana to notice. Her neck hurt a little.

She blinked at the question. ‘I’m f-fine.’

Charlie gave her a quick visual once-over. She didn’t seem to have any obvious injuries. He nodded. ‘I have to go see to the other driver.’ He indicated with his head.

Carrie nodded, noticing the very still person lying on the road for the first time. ‘Yes,’ she said.

And then the man was gone. She lifted her head, gingerly tested the range of movement of her neck. It was tender when she twisted it to the very limit of its capabilities but otherwise it seemed OK. Probably some minor whiplash. Still, Carrie knew how debilitating such an injury could be. She’d get an X-ray some time tomorrow to be sure.

Charlie popped the boot of his car and pulled out his medical kit, complete with oxygen and suction. In his line of work he needed a fully stocked kit ready to go in his car at a moment’s notice, and tonight he was grateful that he’d decided to irritate his father and drive the Datsun. If he’d been driving the BMW, he’d have been up the creek without a paddle.

He sprinted to the inert form, his heart pounding, his pupils dilating as his brain processed all the possibilities. It was a man. A middle-aged man. Had he fallen asleep at the wheel or had there been a medical emergency like a heart attack or a stroke that had caused him to veer into their path?

Charlie donned a pair of gloves and assessed the man methodically as drilled into him during his student years. D. R. A. B. C. H. Danger. Response. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Haemorrhage.

The man was unresponsive. Unconscious. His airway was compromised, his gurgling respirations concerning. He was breathing. Just. He had a pulse. But it was rapid and weak.

His face was covered in blood. Charlie looked at the car and noticed the massive hole in the windscreen. The man must have been catapulted out through the glass, sustaining numerous lacerations. A quick head-to-toe check revealed multiple contusions, bilateral fractured tibias and what appeared to be an arterial bleed from the femoral artery if the bright, pulsing blood from the man’s groin was any indication.

Great! He tore the fabric of the man’s jeans, pulled a wad of gauze out of his kit and placed it over the bleeding site, applying firm, even pressure. He needed help. He flipped open his phone and dialed triple zero with one hand and prayed for service in an area that was generally sketchy at best. The nearest ambulance was twenty minutes away.

‘Hey, lady, I could use a hand here,’ he shouted into the stillness of the night while he waited for the operator.

Carrie jumped, snapped out of her daze by the urgency of his voice. Of course. She was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. But the thought of getting out of the car, of assisting the stranger, paralysed her with fear. The familiar dread descended on her and her heart was hammering madly again. He didn’t know what he was asking. And anyway…she couldn’t leave Dana.

Carrie watched him working as he spoke into the phone as if she was watching it on a television screen. Like it wasn’t really happening. He obviously had a medical background. He was calm and capable, with a huge boxful of medical supplies at his side.

She had a strange feeling of disconnectedness. Maybe it was the residual effects of shock. Maybe his appeal for help had tipped her over. Her hands shook as she thought about getting out of the car and lending a hand. She couldn’t do it. The mere thought was enough to make her hyperventilate. It terrified her more than the near collision had.

Charlie cursed as he hung up. They were coming, sending two road units and a chopper and alerting the nearby local rural fire brigade, but would it be soon enough? The man’s obstructive breathing sounded loud in the night filled otherwise only by insect song. Hell! The driver needed his airway managed as well as his haemorrhage, and he couldn’t do both.

‘Lady! Get your butt here now,’ he shouted, turning his head so he could pierce her with a look that was a cross between commanding and desperate. ‘I’m trying to save this guy’s life!’

Carrie felt the man’s demand slice through her panic and touch the doctor she had shut away for too many years. Despite her shaking, despite the dryness of her mouth and the pounding of her heart, something inside responded to the stranger’s urgent appeal. She checked on Dana. Still asleep. Almost against her will her hand reached for the door.

Charlie looked up as the woman approached. Oh, hell. She was pale and visibly shaking, looking at the unconscious bleeding patient as if she’d never seen blood before. She looked horrified, as if she was going to either faint or vomit. Or both. Great. She was going to be as useless as a screen door on a submarine.

She’s all you’ve got, Charlie boy.

‘Gloves top drawer of the kit,’ he barked. If she didn’t snap out of this stupor they were both in trouble. Yes, she’d been through a lot tonight. No doubt she’d thought she’d been a goner at one stage but there was a life hanging in the balance and time was of the essence. He didn’t have time to baby her. He only hoped she would respond automatically to his demands.

Carrie crouched and pulled out a pair of gloves. Her movements were stiff, robotic, as if someone else was controlling her. Pushing her buttons.

‘Down here. I need you to put your hand here,’ he said. She didn’t move and he almost lost it.

‘I…c-can’t.’ Carrie’s teeth chattered violently.

Charlie bit his tongue and took a deep calming breath. ‘Look, lady, I know you’ve had a shock tonight but this is really, really important.’

Carrie felt herself responding to the softness in his voice. To his calm appeal. ‘I c-can’t.’

‘Yes, you can,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I need firm, even pressure.’

His kept his voice quiet and composed despite the well of frustration rising inside him. Of all the people in the entire world he was stuck with a neurotic female who would probably faint before much longer.

He looked at her for confirmation and breathed a sigh of relief as she reached out a shaking hand to cover his. He removed his slowly. ‘Firm. Even. Do you understand?’

She didn’t answer him, just stared with a look of horror at the blood covering her glove. She was looking at it as if she’d never seen the substance before.

‘Y-yes,’ she stuttered.

Charlie looked down at her technique, pleasantly surprised to find that she had quickly mastered it. As long as she kept the pressure applied she could prevent this man from bleeding to death, and it freed him up to manage the airway.

Carrie didn’t feel the bite of the bitumen into her knees through the thin fabric of her hand-made cotton tie-dyed trousers. She didn’t hear the hum of insects or the stutter of her own panicked breath. She didn’t even hear the stranger rooting around in his medical kit. The injured man’s blood totally consumed her.

She could feel its warmth though the thin barrier of latex. She could smell its pungent metallic aroma heavy on the warm night air. Knew that it would be sticky as it clotted around her hands. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. The chant helped her keep her mind off the roar of her own blood in her ears, the sweat beading her forehead, the nausea rolling through her intestines. She was breathing fast. Too fast.

Charlie cursed under his breath as he applied an oxygen mask to the man’s face. She was going to hyperventilate at any moment.

‘Hey,’ he said, forcing himself to minister to her needs for a few seconds while the patient’s life hung in the balance. ‘You’re doing great, OK? Just slow your breathing down. Can you do that?’

Carrie shook her head, feeling everything around her spinning out of control. Her lips were tingling. Her gloved fingers, covered in blood, were tingling. ‘I can’t…b-breathe,’ she gasped.

Charlie bit back an expletive. ‘Yes, you can. Look at me.’

Carrie couldn’t move. She could only see the blood. Her mind started to play tricks. She was getting flashes of another place and time. Another patient. Another life-and-death situation. So much blood. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to expel them.

‘Look at me!’

His command ricocheted across the space between them and Carrie’s head snapped up.

He saw the sheer panic in her eyes. ‘You’re doing really well,’ he said gently, lifting his hand and squeezing her shoulder. ‘The ambulance should be here soon.’

Carrie felt the warmth of his hand anchoring her in the suddenly spinning world and her panicked thoughts eased momentarily.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘C-Carrie,’ she said.

‘Hi, Carrie. I’m Charlie,’ he replied, and smiled. ‘I need you to slow your breathing down, OK? Do you think you can do that?’

Carrie nodded mutely.

‘Come on, Carrie, like this,’ he said, breathing deeply in and out himself. ‘Breathe with me, like this.’

Carrie forced herself to slow her breathing. It was hard at first, she didn’t feel like she was getting enough air into her oxygen-starved lungs. But following Charlie’s calm voice, mimicking his deep steady breathing—in and out, in and out—had an affect. His hand on her shoulder was immeasurably comforting. The tingling slowly subsided.

‘OK, now. Good. This is good. Much better. Well done.’

He smiled encouragingly at her. Carrie was aware somewhere inside her jumbled thoughts that he was talking to her like she was a frightened child, the way she spoke to Dana during a thunderstorm. And she was also aware that behind his calm façade his eyes kept flicking down to check the inert man on the ground. Their patient was in bad shape and she had to pull herself together.

‘I need to keep going here. Will you be OK? Just keep breathing, OK? In and out. All right?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m g-good now. I’ll breathe.’

Charlie searched her face. She still looked scared but the panic was gone. ‘OK.’ He nodded and turned his attention back to his patient.

What first? He needed a collar to stabilise the patient’s neck before he manipulated it to improve the airway. He didn’t have one. He made a mental note to put a collar in the kit for future use and moved to plan B. He knelt so that the patient’s head was between his legs, his knees and thighs providing support for the head and neck.

He experimented with some gentle jaw support and chin extension and was relieved to hear the breathing become much less noisy. He reached for his portable suction unit, pushed the mask aside and placed the sucker inside the man’s mouth. Blood slurped into the tubing.

Carrie startled at the loud mechanical noise. She saw the red fluid track down the tubing and looked away quickly. Nausea roiled through her intestines again and for an awful moment she thought she was going to vomit. Her heartbeat surged and she coughed on a rising surge of bile.

Charlie looked up quickly. ‘You OK?’ The look on her face was worrying. He could hear her fear in her tortured breathing as she struggled to get herself back under control. ‘In and out, Carrie. This is nearly over.’

Carrie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Charlie felt his conscience prick at what this experience was doing to her. First she’d nearly lost her life and second he was forcing her to do something she was clearly unsuited to. She was obviously one of those squeamish people who didn’t like the sight of blood, who flicked the channel over when a medical show came on television. It had to be hard for her. This sort of scene could be difficult for even hardened professionals.

She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. ‘Do…do you think he’s going to d-die?’

Charlie was surprised to hear her talk. She looked mute with fear and her teeth were chattering loudly. Maybe she needed conversation to distract her from the grim reality of the situation? He had two choices. Truth or gloss.

‘Probably.’ He’d never much been one for gloss.

Carrie shut her eyes again.

‘He’s got a significant head injury and multiple fractures, including probable facial, which is compromising his airway. His pupils are fixed and dilated. He has a major arterial haemorrhage.’

Carrie nodded. Through the fog of her seized thought processes she knew these were significant, life-threatening injuries.

‘But it’s OK, I’m a doctor.’ He grinned despite the circumstances, knowing she needed assurance. ‘I’m not giving up yet.’

Carrie felt relief wash through her system. Maybe his confidence was wrong in the face of the severity of the situation but it helped calm her a little.

The wail of a distant siren interrupted their conversation. They both cocked their heads.

‘See? Not much longer.’ Charlie smiled.

A fire engine arrived a minute later. It wasn’t quite what Charlie was after but it meant more hands. ‘What happened?’ asked a thin young man, jumping out of the truck.

Charlie filled them in. Within a minute the car was being dealt with, a road block was being set up to manage any traffic and Charlie’s request for light had been efficiently dealt with. He even commandeered someone to assist.

Second rule of triage—the most experienced person on scene managed the airway. But Charlie needed to get a line in and he couldn’t do that from the head of the patient. He let one of the crew take his place, stressing the importance of neck stability while he quickly placed an IV in the crook of the patient’s elbow. He hooked some fluid up to it and ran it wide open as another fireman held the bag aloft.

‘She OK, Doc?’ The human IV pole nudged Charlie.

Charlie looked down at Carrie, who had her eyes closed and was rocking her body slightly. Not really.

‘She’s fine,’ he assured the fireman. The ambulance would be here soon and she could be relieved, but in the meantime she was doing a great job with the arterial bleed.

‘OK?’ he asked as he crouched down beside Carrie, squeezing her shoulder. She looked very pale. ‘You’re doing really well. I couldn’t have done this without your help. I’m proud of you.’

Carrie looked at him, stunned by his praise. Amazed even more that it seemed to matter so much. She was a mess and she shouldn’t have been. She should have been a professional. She could have been really useful. Formed a vibrant partnership to save the man’s life. Been an asset instead of a liability. But he was complimenting her nonetheless and in this nightmare it really meant something.

Charlie contemplated splinting the man’s fractured legs but discarded the idea instantly. He knew they’d probably want to put some special haemorrhage control trousers on the patient for his trip to hospital and splints would only hamper that process. He went back to managing the airway and keeping an eye on his unwilling assistant.

The road ambulances arrived five minutes later, one carrying an intensive-care paramedic, and the chopper thundered overhead minutes after that, landing on the road nearby. Carrie was relieved of her duty, her fingers numb from applying constant pressure. Someone took over and she felt several arms lifting her up and out of the way.

A paramedic shepherded her away but she refused to be looked at until she’d checked on Dana. Surely she wasn’t still asleep? But she was. Soundly. Her cherubic pout slack, her blonde locks in disarray.

Carrie allowed the paramedic to give her a once-over by her car. Someone thrust a warm drink at her and someone else draped a blanket around her shoulders. She was grateful to be away from it all, her heart rate settling but the feeling of unreality persisting. Her neck ached and she rubbed each side absently. Her knees ached also. She looked down at her ruined trousers, torn and frayed at the knees.

She watched Charlie work in tandem with the paramedics to help stabilise the patient. She admired his confidence. His self-assuredness. She had practically fallen apart, almost vomited all over the patient. But not him. He had saved the man’s life. His insistence that she help, while difficult beyond words for her, had been the right call. Not that she’d been capable of much.

Thirty minutes later the patient was gone. Dana finally woke up as the chopper lifted noisily. Carrie got her out of her car seat and snuggled her against her chest, wrapping the blanket around both of them.

‘What happened, Mummy?’

‘There was a car accident, sweetie.’

Dana yawned. ‘It looks like a disco, Mummy. Can I dance?’

Carrie smiled. Dana was right. The scene did look like a roadside discotheque. Flashing lights from the multiple emergency vehicles strobed across the scene, reflecting the pieces of broken glass scattered like diamonds across the road surface. ‘No, sweetie, no dancing tonight.’

Dana gave her a cute sleepy smile and snuggled her face into Carrie’s neck. Carrie hugged her closer, inhaling the sweet smell of her.

Charlie approached, surprised to see a mop of blonde hair peeking out of the top of the blanket. She had a kid? No wonder she’d been reluctant to get out the car.

‘Is this your daughter?’

Carrie nodded.

‘I’m sorry, I had no idea…’ Maybe that’s why she’d been so shaky? She’d probably still been reacting to the potential consequences had the red car hit hers head on.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Dana slept through it all.’

‘Who are you?’ Dana’s high voice broke into their conversation.

Charlie was captivated by a pair of big blue eyes fluttering behind heavy lids. ‘I’m Charlie.’ He grinned.

‘Were you in the accident?’ Dana asked sleepily.

‘No, Sleeping Beauty, I just helped out.’

Dana giggled. ‘Mummy, Charlie thinks I’m Sleeping Beauty.’

Carrie smiled down at her daughter. ‘Go to sleep, then, Sleeping Beauty.’ She dropped a kiss on Dana’s forehead.

They both watched Dana drift off.

‘How are you doing?’ Charlie asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, despite the persisting tremble of her hands.

‘I’m sorry, I was probably a bit forceful back there.’

‘You were just trying to help him,’ she said dismissively.

‘You did well.’ Charlie leant his hip against her vehicle.

Carrie laughed. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.’ He shrugged.

Carrie decided it was best he didn’t know about her qualifications. The chances that they’d ever meet in a professional capacity were fairly negligible. He was obviously an emergency medicine specialist and she was firmly ensconced in management.

‘Are you going to be right to travel home?’ he asked. ‘Your car still goes?’

Carrie looked at the dented rear side panel. It did, but she doubted whether she could drive again tonight, she felt too shaken up. ‘I’ll get one of the tow-truck drivers to take it away and arrange to have it fixed first thing tomorrow. It’s a bit of a pain but, considering I thought we were going to die tonight, it’s an inconvenience I can live with.’

Charlie chuckled. ‘You heading back to Brisbane? Can I give you a lift home?’

Carrie watched the traffic accident investigation squad put yellow markings on the road. They’d promised her a lift back into the city but they didn’t look like they’d be finished any time soon.

She looked up into his face, taking notice of his looks for the first time. He was tall, a good head taller than her. He had nice eyes, grey eyes. A nice face, actually. Calm. Serene. Confident. Even when he’d been snapping orders he’d been completely self-assured. There was something innately tranquil about his features.

He had shaggy brown hair shot with blond, as if naturally streaked by the sun. It hung down, brushing his collar, and seemed to part naturally in the middle, falling in haphazard layers over his ears, just stopping short of impeding his vision. It was hardly inner-city chic, more 1970s rock star, but it suited his laid-back look.

Combined with his three-day growth, he looked a little hippy-ish and as far from Rupert’s cleanly shaven short back and sides as was physically possible. His arms were tanned a deep brown, as if he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. His clothes were casual—threadbare jeans and one of those trendy T-shirts that looked like it had been painted by a preschooler. His chest was broad, his biceps firm in her peripheral vision.

‘You can just drop us at the first taxi rank,’ she suggested.

‘Nonsense.’ He rejected her suggestion. ‘It’s the least I can do for your help tonight. Where do you live?’

‘Windsor.’

‘Perfect. I live in the Valley. You’re on my way.’

Charlie pushed away from the car. He cleared their departure with the scene controller while Carrie arranged for her car to be towed away.

Two minutes later he opened the passenger door to his sedan. Carrie eyed it disparagingly. The thought of leaving the scene with her precious cargo intact was amazingly lightening and for the first time since she’d met him, she could feel her old self returning.

‘You sure this thing goes?’

Charlie feigned an insulted look. ‘I’ll have you know this is a classic car.’

‘It’s ancient.’

He chuckled. It was. It had been secondhand when he’d inherited it as his uni run-around. ‘It’s…retro.’ He was fond of the old banger, preferring it to the ostentatious BMW his parents had bought him for his thirtieth birthday. It had lot of happy memories. He’d kissed his first girl in this car. Had driven to Ayers Rock in it. Slept in it the night of his bucks’ party when he’d been too drunk to drive it home. The Beamer just didn’t have the same amount of soul.

‘Hmm,’ she said, waiting for Charlie to position Dana’s seat. ‘We’ll see how far it gets us.’

Dana stirred as Carrie buckled her into the seat. ‘Where are we, Mummy?’

‘In Charlie’s car,’ Carrie said quietly. ‘He’s taking us home.’

Dana looked around with heavy eyelids. ‘I like it,’ she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.

Carrie stood up and met Charlie’s amused gaze. It was warm and sexy and she blinked, surprised by the parts of her body that were responding to it.

‘Your daughter obviously has an eye for a classic.’

‘She’s four.’

His laughter followed her into the car and Carrie felt a warm sensation down low and deep spread out sensual tentacles until her whole body was humming. It was strange and unnerving and she put the brakes on immediately. So, he had a nice face and a great smile and had talked her down from the ledge tonight. She was a single mother with her eye on a prestigious job. She didn’t have time for this.

Charlie started the car and they drove away slowly. It was a good minute before he lost sight of the multicoloured glow of the accident scene in his rear-view mirror. The adrenaline he had felt at the scene had dissipated, leaving him feeling edgy, and he drummed his fingers against the steering-wheel.

He took a sideways glance at his passenger. At least she was looking better than she had at the accident scene. There was colour in her cheeks now. She had auburn hair, he noticed for the first time. It was wavy rather than curly, tumbling to her shoulders and framing her oval face perfectly.

She had a creamy complexion with a smattering of freckles across her nose and big light brown eyes the exact shade of whiskey. She was wearing a purple tie-dyed shirt with a heavily beaded modest neckline and matching trousers. It was loose and flowing, hinting at her figure beneath rather than revealing it. She had exotic large silver hoop earrings and a thin silver choker with lines of purple beads hanging off it like icicles. The total effect was quite exotic. Very gypsy.

He adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see Dana’s face. She was staring sleepily out the window, her blonde hair and blue eyes nothing like her mother’s.

‘So, what do you do?’ Charlie asked, making small talk as the silence stretched between them.

Carrie felt her heartbeat pick up tempo. ‘I’m…in management,’ she said.

He laughed. She looked like she read palms for a living. ‘Very vague.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing very exciting. It pays the mortgage and the hours are good.’

He flicked a glance at Dana again. Her eyes had drifted shut. ‘How old did you say Dana was?’

‘She’s four.’

‘Cute age.’

Carrie smiled. ‘Yes, it is. You got kids?’

Charlie snorted. ‘No.’

OK, not into kids. ‘Not your thing?’

Quite the opposite. Charlie had wanted a family of his own for a long time. A chance to do it better than his parents had. If that was possible. If he hadn’t been genetically wired to screw it up as badly as they had.

He shrugged. ‘Veronica, my ex-wife, didn’t want them. It was probably just as well, given the divorce and everything.’

Carrie detected a bitterness scarring his deep voice. ‘Was it bad?’

Charlie’s knuckles grew white on the steering-wheel and Carrie wished she could have bitten her tongue off. She had no idea what had come over her. Maybe it was the moments they had shared at the accident scene that made her feel like she knew this man. That she could ask him such a personal question on such short acquaintance.

‘Oh, God, sorry, that’s none of my business. Forget I asked.’

He could hear the mortification in her voice and relaxed a little. ‘It’s OK. It was…kind of messy.’

They drove in silence for a little while longer.

‘So, does Dana have a dad?’

Carrie shook her head, trying to keep her voice neutral. Unemotional. Even after five years Rupert’s desertion still stung. ‘Not one that’s interested in her, no.’ She looked out the window.

‘Sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘His loss.’ Rupert had no idea what he was missing out on.

Charlie flicked another glance at the little blonde angel sleeping soundly in her seat. ‘Absolutely,’ he replied, his voice quiet.

She looked at him, hit by the sincerity of his tone. It was ridiculous to feel so connected to a person so quickly. She looked away and stared straight ahead. But his thigh was bulky and solid in her peripheral vision. His biceps flexed distractingly with every slight movement of the steering-wheel. He leaned forward and switched the radio on, his hair brushing against the neckline of his shirt and falling forward, momentarily obscuring the sexy stubble covering his jaw.

‘Do you mind? Will it wake Dana?’

Carrie dragged her gaze away from his jaw. She laughed. ‘She slept through a car smashing into us, four sirens and a helicopter.’

He chuckled. ‘Good point.’

Charlie was grateful for the music to distract them from conversation. At the accident scene Carrie had been easy to dismiss as a blood-phobic, hyperventilating tie-dye flake. But seeing her now, free of the stress of the accident, she was a different woman altogether. One that appealed to him immensely. She had teased him about his car, sympathised over his divorce and told him about her little girl. Suddenly she was three-dimensional. Complex.

Desirable even. The thought slid insidiously into his head. No. No way. She was a single mother. You didn’t mess with them. Honourable men knew that. Especially not when his life was such a mess. A separation, a divorce and an almost year-long health crisis. In two weeks he’d have some closure, but until then his life was on hold.

And after that? There were things to do. Big things. A major project that had been shelved for too long was a priority. He wouldn’t have time for an exotic single mother and her cute child. Relationships were going to be light from now on. Nothing heavy. His life had weighed a tonne for years. And women with children deserved more than that.

They passed the rest of the trip listening to the music and indulging in occasional light conversation. Charlie was grateful when he pulled up outside her apartment block. Her laughter and her scent had filled the car. He couldn’t hear the squeak of the back tyre any more or smell the slight aroma of rust. And he liked those things about his car. OK, it was probably a guy thing—heaven knew, Veronica had hated every inch of it—but he liked them a lot. And it was disturbing to think this woman could completely obliterate them.

‘Thanks for the lift, Charlie. And for…you know…snapping me out of it back there.’ Now she was home she didn’t want to get out. Strangely she felt like staying in the car, chatting with him. They’d shared an experience tonight that few strangers shared. They’d saved a man’s life. She felt a weird kind of connection.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I know that wasn’t easy for you. You did good. Really.’ Charlie wanted her to go as desperately as he wanted her to stay. It was an unsettling feeling. It was as if they’d developed a strange kind of bond. ‘I’ll help you with Dana.’

They got out of the car and Carrie ducked her head to unbuckle Dana. She managed to pick her up without disturbing her.

‘I’ll get the seat,’ Charlie said.

Being unfamiliar with children’s safety seats, he made a real hash of it. ‘How do you get the blasted thing out?’

Carrie laughed. ‘Here.’ She gently passed Dana to him. ‘Move aside I’ll do it.’

Charlie felt a funny tightening in his chest as Dana murmured and wriggled in his arms, trying to find the most comfortable position. Her blonde head snuggled into his neck and her hair smelt like toffee-apples.

Carrie removed the seat easily and he indicated for her to precede him. Carrie placed the seat on the ground and opened the front door. She turned and held her arms out for Dana. Charlie passed her over gently.

It was such a domestic scene Charlie couldn’t quite believe he was in it. Or how…nice it felt. It had an odd kind of pull. But his life was complicated, his head was messed up and she had a child. And he’d probably never see her ever again. They were hardly compatible.

‘Well, thanks for this, Charlie. I really appreciate it. It was nice meeting you. I just wish it had been under different circumstances.’

He chuckled. ‘Amen to that.’

Carrie walked through the door and closed it without looking back. She put Dana to bed, trying not to think about the sense of intimacy she’d had when Charlie had handed Dana back. It was insane to think that way. Charlie was gone. The book had shut on their brief encounter. She had a daughter to raise and a career to forge.

She didn’t need any Charlies in her life.

CHAPTER TWO

CHARLIE sat at his desk on Monday morning and drummed his fingers impatiently. He’d slept badly and his first appointment was late. He was annoyed. Just because he ran a drop-in centre, it didn’t mean he had time to wait around for nosy hospital administrators.

He picked up the phone and dialled Joe’s number. His best friend answered with his usual jovial greeting.

‘Deep, philosophical question for you. Is it insane to fantasise about a woman who nearly vomited over you and you had to talk out of a panic attack?’

‘And this couldn’t wait half an hour?’

‘Nope.’

‘Is she hot?’

‘Hell, Joe, I said deep.’ Charlie laughed. ‘We saved a life together. Well…actually, she was a mess but…I can’t stop thinking about her.’

‘OK, buddy, back up. Tell me the story.’

Charlie relayed the details of the previous night’s incident. ‘She’s so not my type. She looked like a gypsy. She was wearing tie-dye, for God’s sake. You know I prefer pinstripes.’

‘Like vile Veronica?’

‘Well…yes.’

‘Oh, yeah, that turned out so well.’

‘Well, it should have.’

‘Your ex-wife was a stuck-up cow. Strikes me you could do with a little tie-dye.’

‘She has a child. A little girl.’

‘OK, stop right there.’

‘I know, I know. It’s crazy. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.’

Joe laughed. ‘Relax, Charlie. It’s just the celibacy talking, man. In two weeks’ time the tests will come back negative and you can get back on the horse. No man can think straight after a year of no sex.’

Charlie nodded. His friend made a very good point. ‘Right.’

‘Right. So…see you soon?’

‘Right.’

Charlie hung up the phone and checked his watch, his thoughts returning once again to Carrie. Damn it! He drummed his fingers more loudly.

Carrie was late. It was unprofessional and rude. She tried the number again but was blocked by yet another busy signal. Last night’s accident had sure thrown a spanner into the works. Having to arrange insurance and quotes and organise a hire car this morning had not been conducive to punctuality. And she’d slept badly, tossing and turning and thinking about Charlie all night.

She stood in front of the drab-looking building that she’d been assigned to and felt uncharacteristically depressed. A faded sign on the front announced it was the Valley Drop-In Centre. God, I’m tired. She pushed through the mesh reinforced glass doors and looked around the room.

‘Dr Wentworth?’ she asked a couple of bored, tatty-looking teenagers. They pointed to a closed door and she approached it briskly. She had a job to do and regardless of her near-death experience last night, she needed to put it aside and concentrate on today. Concentrate. The chipped nameplate said ‘Dr Charles Wentworth’. She thought of Charlie and then shook her head disgustedly. Concentrate, damn it!

She gave a brisk rap.

‘Come in.’

Carrie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked into the office. She stopped in mid-stride, knowing instantly who the tall rangy man with the shaggy downcast head sitting behind the desk was and gave a startled gasp.

Charlie looked up at the noise, his pen stilling in surprise. ‘Carrie?’

‘Charlie?’ A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t be. ‘You’re Dr Charles Wentworth?’ she asked, hoping desperately that he was just there doing some locum work for the good doctor who she’d assumed to be years older.

‘The very same.’ He nodded. Surely she wasn’t his appointment? ‘And you’re…Dr Douglas?’

Carrie nodded, temporarily unable to form words.

Charlie stared in dismay at her smart businesslike suit. Navy blue. Rich, red, silky blouse. Pinstripes. No tie-dye in sight. Pinstripes—hell! ‘And you’re here to…’

She nodded again. ‘Audit you.’

The wall clock ticked so loudly in the silence it might as well have been a bomb. Charlie recovered first, ignoring the ominous ‘A’ word and its implications to the viability of the centre. He’d lived under the cloud of closure since he’d opened the clinic five years ago.

‘You’re a doctor?’ What the hell?

Carrie lifted her chin. She’d never had to justify her title before and she was damned if she’d do so now. For the next month she was in charge here so it was imperative that she assert her authority immediately. Having him think less of her qualifications, ones she’d worked long and hard for, ones her parents had worked two jobs and re-mortgaged the house for, rankled. ‘Yes, I am.’

Charlie was flabbergasted. He couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d told him she was a hooker. ‘A medical doctor?’

‘Yes, Charlie, a medical doctor.’

‘You could have fooled me.’

She shrugged, trying for nonchalant when in reality her heart was hammering madly in her chest. Surely he could hear it? ‘I’ve been in management for a while now.’

‘I thought only middle-aged has-beens went into management.’

No. Sometimes young has-beens did, too. ‘It’s a legitimate career option these days. I’m on track to become the youngest hospital MD in Australia.’

Whoa—real party girl. ‘So, what, when other little girls wanted to be fairies and princesses, you decided to chose something more—’ boring ‘—practical?’

Carrie felt her spine stiffen. She was used to subtle male put-downs. Making her way in a male-dominated career had given her a thick skin and a very low tolerance level for fools. Why did he make ambition seem so dirty? Would he have asked her the same question had she been a male? Where was the man from last night who had so tenderly handed Dana to her?

‘Do powerful women threaten your masculinity, Charlie?’

OK. This conversation was bizarre. She was standing before him in her fashionable pinstriped suit—hell, pinstripes—that moulded curves he hadn’t even been aware of last night. Her collar was up on her soft, wine-red shirt—very chic—and it clung to the very interesting rise of flesh that strained against the buttons, barely succeeding in concealing her cleavage.

Indignation burned in her eyes behind trendy frameless glasses that sat high on her perfectly straight nose. She had some shiny gloss stuff on her full lips, the only make-up he could detect, and they glistened. Her wavy hair was pulled back, restricted in some kind of clasp thingy, not a stray hair in sight.

She was the epitome of a modern businesswoman. Composed. Professional. Collected. And a far cry from the cot case of last night. Pale. Shaken. Hyperventilating. Try as he may, he just couldn’t reconcile the two images. It was as if last night hadn’t even happened.

‘Not at all,’ he said dismissively. ‘Actually, I find powerful women very sexy. Hell, I even married one. I just couldn’t think of anything worse if I tried. Management.’ He shuddered. ‘All that paperwork.’

Carrie swallowed. Did he find her sexy? The idea was as seductive as it was preposterous. She reeled in her straying thoughts. What the hell did she care if he did or not? Whatever happened to asserting her authority? She was going to need to be twice as hard with this man now he’d already had her at a disadvantage. Now he’d seen her so vulnerable.

‘Yes,’ she said briskly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘Apparently paperwork’s not your forte.’

Charlie chuckled. Paperwork was the bane of his life.

Carrie pursed her lips disapprovingly. He could find this as amusing as he liked but it was just irresponsible as far as she was concerned. When you were running a business, particularly with someone else’s money, you had to be fiscally accountable.

‘It’s taken me a while to decipher some of your figures, particularly the last year’s, and a lot of it’s incomplete. To finish my investigation I’ll need to see all your business files, bank records, activity statements and so on.’

Charlie stared at her, his ire rising. She was looking so prim and proper. So together. So unlike the woman from last night. She held the upper hand and she knew it. The future of the clinic depended on the outcome of her report. ‘I have some of them ready. I’ll have to get the rest together for you,’ he stonewalled.

Carrie heard the flint in his voice. She glared at him. Did he think because he had already seen her at less than her best that she was just going to fold and meekly surrender? He needed to know now that the woman he’d seen last night had been a complete anomaly.

‘You’ve had over a week to get this information together,’ she growled, trying to keep her temper in check. ‘I don’t appreciate these stalling tactics.’

Tactics? ‘Lady, what the hell is it you think we do here all day? I don’t have time to scratch myself most of the time. Trying to locate five years’ worth of documentation with the few snatched minutes that I get isn’t possible. You know, I’m trying to practise a little thing called medicine here. Not that I expect you to understand that.’

Carrie felt the barb hit her in the chest and put her hand on her hip to steady herself from the impact. She’d wanted to be a doctor ever since she’d been able to say the word. Being judged by him professionally and found to be lacking was a new experience for her. Especially when he was basing his assessment on last night’s performance. That was hardly fair. It had been four years since she’d had a clinical role. Her management skills, on the other hand, were very highly praised. It was like comparing apples and oranges.

‘Please, don’t call me lady. Doctor or Carrie will be fine.’ The frost in her voice could have frozen a lake.

‘I guess it’ll have to be Carrie, then.’ If she wanted to be called Doctor she was going to have to earn it!

She got his meaning loud and clear. And ignored it. ‘I’ll start with what you’ve got,’ she said haughtily. ‘How about you show me around, allocate me an office and I’ll get started?’

Charlie gave a harsh laugh. He couldn’t believe he’d lain awake all night thinking about this woman. Did she have any idea what it was like at the coal face any more?

‘This isn’t some posh city specialist clinic, Carrie. We don’t have offices to spare. There’s only mine and the one opposite.’ He pointed to the door behind her across the hallway and watched the line of her neck and the interesting pull of fabric across her chest as she twisted to check it out.

‘It’s used most days by our regular clinic holders so you’ll have to vacate it during those times. Other than that there’s the staffroom.’

Carrie glared at him. How was she supposed to work being shifted from pillar to post all the time? ‘I need somewhere without constant interruptions.’

Charlie almost smiled at her, half expecting her to stamp her foot. She was annoyed? Good, she was bugging the hell out of him. She didn’t look so prim and proper any more, he noted with satisfaction. So untouchable. She looked ruffled. Like she wanted to swear.

Her chest rose and fell a little faster, straining the button holding everything together. Her teeth bit into the soft fullness of her lower lip. She looked a little frazzled. A little like last night. She looked touchable. Very touchable.

He shrugged. ‘They’re your choices.’

Some choice. ‘Which one will have the fewest interruptions?’

He snorted. ‘Ever heard of the chaos theory?’

Carrie gripped the handle of her briefcase tighter. ‘Gee, no, I must have been off painting my nails or polishing my tiara the days we discussed that in physics.’

He laughed despite his exasperation. ‘All right, OK, sorry. Well, forget it. This place is chaotic and, trust me, there is no underlying order.’

Carrie waited patiently, hand still on hip, barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

Charlie sighed. Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with her. ‘The staffroom’s your best bet.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you around.’

Carrie stood aside as Charlie brushed past her. She caught a faint whiff of his aftershave and fought the urge to hurry, to keep pace with his long-legged stride. Every sensible cell in her body was telling her to keep her distance. And she was listening.

He was dressed as casually as he’d been last night. Trendy ultra-long shorts that fell just past his knees and another pre-school-inspired T-shirt. Since when had a man’s clothes been so fascinating?

He took her out to the front area first. ‘This is the reception area.’ Charlie checked his watch. ‘Angela should be in soon.’

‘Angela?’

‘She’s the receptionist.’

‘Why isn’t she here already?’

‘She’s a local divorced grandmother who cares for her two grandkids on a permanent basis. She arrives after she’s dropped them at school.’

‘Surely it would be more efficient to have someone here when the clinic first opens?’

Charlie looked down at her. He could see her business brain already writing recommendations. ‘Angela is invaluable. As a single mother yourself, surely you can see the advantage of being flexible?’

Carrie was torn between the emotional answer and the fiscally responsible answer. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t paid to think emotionally. ‘Flexible isn’t always good for the bottom line.’

Hell, he despised bottom-line thinking. There was no room for people in bottom-line thinking. ‘Wait till you meet her. You’ll understand.’

He moved over towards the games area, not wanting to get into a fruitless discussion with a bottom-liner over their obviously different visions. ‘As you can see, we have a ping-pong table and a pool table, a small library, a lounge area and a jukebox.’

Carrie nodded, picking up a ball off the pool table as she watched the two teenagers she’d seen earlier battling it out at ping-pong. ‘The purpose of these being?’

He eyeballed her. Did he have to explain it? ‘Recreation.’

‘Is it a medical centre’s role to provide recreation?’

Bottom line again? ‘This is a drop-in centre, Carrie. It’s not just about fixing people’s ailments. A large portion of our client base is homeless kids, disaffected youth. If they’re in here, listening to music or shooting pool, then they’re not out on the streets, shooting drugs.’

Drugs? ‘Shouldn’t they be at school?’

Charlie snorted. ‘Of course they should but guess what? Telling them they should be at school generally doesn’t work—their parents have already tried that. Look, we get a lot of community support groups come through the centre every day, talking to the kids that are around, helping them to get their lives together. We can’t do that in a sterile judgmental environment. These are kids who have huge trust issues. We have to provide an environment where they don’t feel judged, where they feel comfortable, where they feel safe. In fact, if I had my way, we’d be expanding the services we offer here. This area is crying out for a properly resourced centre.’

Carrie replaced the pool ball and pondered his statement for a moment. She felt a needle of guilt prick her conscience. He was doing what she’d wanted to do in the beginning. The reason she’d become a doctor in the first place. To help people who couldn’t afford the luxuries that a lot of people took for granted. Like health care. Having grown up poor, she’d always wanted to give something back. Then a child had died because of her negligence and everything had changed. Practising medicine had no longer been an option.

Charlie watched her wander around the lounge area, absently touching furniture, caressing books. Pinstripes? Damn it, this was his fault. He’d been sent the usual ‘please give reason’ letter by the hospital board two months ago. He should have just sent the standard reply, heavy on politics and designed to guilt the suits into backing down.

But this time, with all the uncertainty in his life this past year, he’d been indignant and defiant. He’d not only been scathing of their continual attacks but suggested that they leave him the hell alone to do what he did best.

Watching Carrie’s bottom sway in her pinstriped skirt as she ran her fingers over the jukebox buttons, he wished he hadn’t. His recalcitrance had, no doubt, earned him this surprise audit. In short, he had brought this intrusion on himself. Had brought Carrie and her pinstripes on himself.

‘We have a small treatment room,’ he said, and turned to show her the way. He opened the door, hyper-aware that she was right behind him. ‘I do a lot of stitching up in here.’

Carrie looked at the scrupulously clean white room. The rest of the centre was a bit on the dowdy side. The walls were marked, the furniture had seen better days, the lino flooring was scuffed and worn in places. But this room could have done a hospital proud. From the military neatness of the made-up examination bed to the crisp antiseptic smell, it was a credit to the clinic.

‘Wow.’

Charlie chuckled. ‘This is Angela’s baby. She’s an ex-army nurse. Vietnam.’

‘Do I hear somebody talking about me?’

‘No ma’am.’ Charlie winked at Carrie. ‘Not me.’

Carrie dragged her gaze away from Charlie’s face and her mind off the unexpected tightening of her stomach muscles to look at the older woman. She was tall and built like a female Olympic hammer-thrower, with an ample bosom, greying hair and shrewd, assessing eyes. She looked like someone not to be messed with.

‘Angela, this is Carrie.’

Angela sniffed. ‘The suit?’

Charlie smiled at his ever-loyal receptionist. ‘The suit,’ he nodded gravely.

Carrie felt assessing eyes on her. ‘Hey, I’m not the enemy here,’ she protested.

‘Hmph!’ Angela grunted. ‘We’ll see.’

‘OK, moving right along.’ Charlie ushered Carrie down the hallway and opened the door. ‘Here’s the staffroom.’ He strode over to a row of grey lockers in the corner. ‘You can put your stuff in here.’ He tossed her a key. ‘Lock up any valuables. Some of the best petty thieves in Brisbane frequent this place.’

‘Er, right.’

Carrie looked around the room. It was a little on the used-looking side, as well. The kitchen area had chipped benches, the kettle was ancient and the fridge had long since stopped being white. But it was a decent size with a big table in the middle that sat twelve—perfect for her laptop.

‘Toilet through there.’

Carrie followed the direction of his pointing finger. He dropped his hand and strode towards a door in the back wall, which he opened.

‘Basketball court out the back.’

‘More recreation?’

Charlie laughed. ‘More recreation. Every lunch-hour I’m on the court, trying desperately to outplay a bunch of kids twenty years younger than me.’

Really? ‘And here I was thinking you didn’t have time to scratch yourself.’

Charlie sobered. ‘It’s all about trust, Carrie. I need these kids to trust me.’

‘And basketball achieves this?’

He shrugged. ‘Basketball helps.’

The movement of his shoulders drew attention to his shirt. ‘I suppose your workclothes do, too?’

‘Not many kids around here respond favourably to someone in a suit.’

The hallway door opened abruptly. ‘Hey, Charles, my man, only two more weeks and you’re back in the game.’

Carrie blinked at the intrusion on their conversation. Two more weeks? Back in what game?

‘Oh…sorry, didn’t realise you had company.’

Charlie shut his eyes and wished this day was over. At least Joe had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Joe, this is Carrie.’

Carrie glared at him. He held up his hands. ‘Dr Carrie Douglas.’

Joe’s eyes lit up. ‘Carrie. What a lovely name.’ He stuck out his hand.

Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘The hospital administrator I was telling you about.’

‘Ah, the suit,’ Joe said as he shook Carrie’s hand.

Carrie laughed. She was getting the distinct feeling her arrival had been discussed at length. ‘Apparently.’

Charlie was inordinately irritated by Carrie’s response to his friend’s flirting. Did Joe never turn off?

‘Joe works at a posh city law practice but does some pro bono legal work for our clients. He’s here most mornings.’

‘And most lunch-hours.’ Joe winked.

‘That’s very generous of you,’ Carrie said.

Give me a break. ‘He plays basketball at lunch,’ Charlie said dryly.

‘Well, no doubt I’ll be seeing you around over the next few weeks,’ Carrie said. She placed her briefcase on the table and opened it, removing her laptop. ‘I guess I’d better get cracking. The sooner I get this done the sooner I can be out of your hair.’

They left her to it. Charlie was glad to shut the door on her and put some distance between them.

‘Man, is she a hottie or what? You see those curves? Move over, Nigella.’ Joe clapped his best friend on the back.

‘She’s a pain in the butt, that’s what she is.’

Joe laughed. ‘Relax, mate. They’re never going to shut this place down. The outcry would be huge. No one has the guts.’

Charlie sat behind his desk and sighed. ‘She’s the woman from last night, Joe. The one I was telling you about.’

‘The tie-dye chick?’

Charlie nodded miserably.

Joe stifled a grin. ‘Pinstripes, huh?’

Charlie groaned and dropped his head down onto the table, banging his forehead a few times.

‘She’s a doctor?’

Charlie looked up from his desk. ‘Apparently.’

‘Hmm, intriguing, as well.’

‘Pain in the butt,’ Charlie said, sitting up, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest as he idly swung the swivel chair back and forth, Joe’s laughter all around him. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’

Joe laughed again and departed.

Hours later Carrie was deep in figures when the door opened and a group of noisy, grungy-looking teenagers trooped through the room, eyed her suspiciously and continued to the back door and out to the basketball court. Joe winked on his way past.

‘Wanna shoot some hoops?’

Carrie looked down at her unsuitable clothes. And her stilettos. ‘Ah, thanks, better not stop.’

Charlie came through moments later. He acknowledged her with a quick nod of his head.

‘How are we looking?’ He opened his locker, reached for his medication bottles and took one tablet from each.

Carrie took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, opening them to find him dishing out tablets. She watched him go to the sink, pour a glass of water, put the tablets in his mouth and drink the entire contents of the glass. ‘Too early to tell,’ she said, her curiosity well and truly piqued. Were they vitamins? He looked like he took care of himself. ‘It’ll take me a fortnight at least to wade through everything.’

Two weeks? Hell! He had to put up with her pinstriped suits for a fortnight? As Joe kept reminding him, he only had fourteen days to go on his enforced celibacy—and she was going to be here for every one of them? ‘That long?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been allocated a month.’

A month!

‘It’ll be faster if I get that paperwork sooner rather than later.’

‘I’ll have it on your desk by the morning,’ Charlie said as he departed to join the others. Even if he had to stay all night.

Carrie switched her laptop off at five o’clock. She should make it home by five-thirty, in time to get Dana’s tea. She felt a pang of regret that she couldn’t be home more for her little girl. But, like it or not, she was a single mother with no support from Dana’s father. Susie, her live-in nanny, was a godsend. Dana adored her and Carrie had no idea what she’d do without her.

The ebb and flow of human traffic that had swirled around all day seemed to have diminished, she noticed as she walked down the hallway. The jukebox was now silent and she realised as she quietly hummed a song that it had been played so often it had worked its way into her subconscious.

‘I’m off,’ she said, stopping at Charlie’s open door out of courtesy.

‘Good for you. I’ll be here all night, getting that paperwork together.’

Did he want her to feel sorry for him? A job he’d had a week to do? ‘That would be most helpful. Thank you.’

‘Doc!’

The voice was so loud, so unexpected that Carrie visibly startled. She turned to the source of the noise and watched a young man stride into the clinic, carrying another man like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder and a bawling toddler on the opposite hip.

Charlie was up and out of his chair and brushing past a still startled Carrie in a matter of seconds. ‘What is it, Donny?’ he asked, opening the door of the treatment room. ‘He’s not a regular. Do you know him?’

Donny nodded. ‘His name’s Rick. He uses smack. He had a needle hanging out of his arm when I found him.’ Donny laid the unconscious man on the examination table.

‘Carrie, take the baby,’ Charlie said, raising his voice to be heard over the distressed child as he pulled on some gloves and placed an oxygen saturation probe on Rick’s finger.

‘Whose is it?’ she asked. Please, please, please, don’t let this poor frightened child belong to the person lying still and cyanotic on the bed.

‘She’s my niece,’ Donny said, and handed her over gratefully, looking more at home with a nearly dead drug user than the pretty little girl with pink ribbons in her hair. ‘I’d just taken her to the park when we came across him. I couldn’t just leave him.’

Carrie automatically rocked the child. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Tilly.’

‘It’s OK, Tilly, you’re safe now, it’s OK,’ Carrie whispered, cradling her close and talking gently as she watched the emergency unfold.

‘He’s barely breathing. He’s got a pulse. I’ll try oxygenating him first but he might need Narcan.’ Charlie grabbed the bag-mask apparatus that was permanently set up, turned on the wall oxygen supply and placed the mask over the man’s face.

Carrie felt sick and her heart thundered as she stared at the dusky colour of the stranger’s lips visible through the clear plastic of the mask. Large raw sores, bleeding and cracked, blemished the corners.

Rick was frighteningly still. He looked malnourished and unkempt, his hair dirty, his skin pasty. Faint yellowy bruises followed the bluey-green tracks of his knotted, abused veins. He looked like death.

Carrie felt her adrenaline surge as the desperate urgency of a life in the balance played out before her. She recognised Charlie’s professional jaw hold as he assisted the struggling respirations of his patient but the direness of the situation was freaking her out. She’d been here before. Seen lips that colour before. She shut out the image and drew in a shaky breath, she had to get out. ‘I’ll take her outside.’

But the little girl protested more loudly and cried out hysterically for her uncle so Carrie stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. The child settled again. ‘Poor darling, it’s OK. I’m not going to take you away from your Uncle Donny.’

The little one whimpered and hung onto Carrie’s neck for dear life. Her hiccoughy breaths were warm against Carrie’s neck and she squeezed the little girl closer.

Charlie could hear Carrie’s soothing assurances as he assessed Rick’s condition. He recognised the tremulous husk in it from last night. Was she spinning out over there, like last night? Would she vomit? Faint? Damn it, he needed to concentrate on this, not her!

Rick wasn’t coming round. His lips had pinked up. His saturations were good. He was breathing a little more but still not adequately enough. Charlie grabbed a Narcan minijet from the IV trolley, flipped off the plastic lids and quickly assembled it. Time was of the essence.

He plunged the needle into Rick, administering the narcotic antagonist to reverse the effects of the drug. Rick wasn’t going to like it but he was too drugged that oxygen alone would eventually bring him round.

Moments later Rick took a huge gulping breath and then another. He shook his head from side to side and tried to push Charlie’s hands and the mask away. He started to cough, then gag. Charlie and Donny rolled him on to his side and he stilled momentarily. Moments later he started flailing around again and succeeded in ripping the oxygen mask away.

He sat up abruptly and swore a lot.

‘Easy,’ Charlie said gently.

Rick lurched off the bench. ‘God damn it! My hit, man, you wasted my hit.’

Tilly started crying again.

‘Shut that kid up,’ the man bellowed, and staggered out of the room, knocking over a few chairs on his way out of the clinic.

Donny started after him.

‘Let him go,’ Charlie said, taking Rick’s abuse on the chin. He knew it was hopeless to point out that he’d just saved his life. He’d been saving drug addicts from their overdoses for five years, sometimes as much as one a day, and very few of them were ever grateful. In fact, Rick’s behaviour was typical. God knew what he’d had to do to score the money for his hit and he had gone and ruined it by injecting a drug that not only sucked up the respiratory depressant effects but also sucked up the euphoric effects.

Carrie stared after the man while she tried to quieten a scared Tilly. ‘Doesn’t he need to go to hospital?’

‘No,’ Donny said, leaning heavily against the bed. ‘All he needs is to score again.’

Carrie shook her head. Try as she may, she couldn’t understand the addict mentality. How could somebody who once upon a time must have been as innocent as the squirming toddler she held in her arms waste it all like that?

Tilly was reaching for her uncle and Carrie held her close a moment longer, gave her an extra-big squeeze then handed her over with still shaking hands.

‘You OK?’ Charlie asked. She was looking pale again, like she had last night.

She nodded. ‘I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.’

Charlie watched her walk out of the room and sink into one of the seats in the waiting area. ‘You OK?’ he asked Donny.

‘Sure, but I’d better go. My sister will be starting to wonder what I’ve done with Tilly.’

‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Charlie pulled a face at the little girl and was rewarded with a watery smile. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you out.’

‘Wave goodbye to the nice lady, Tilly,’ Donny crooned as they passed where Carrie was sitting.

‘’Night, Tilly.’ Carrie smiled at the toddler, suddenly desperately missing her own little girl as Tilly gave her a shy wave. This was a whole different world—grungy and gritty and real—and she was pleased her child would never be exposed to it.

Carrie watched Charlie and Donny walking to the door, their deep voices hushed but reaching her nonetheless.

‘You taking your medication?’ Charlie asked.

‘Of course, Doc. I promise. What about you?’

‘Absolutely. But it’ll be fine, Donny, don’t worry. Really.’

‘I’m so sorry, Doc…’

They walked outside and Carrie couldn’t hear them any longer. Intriguing. Medication for what? Did that have something to do with the tablets she’d seen Charlie taking earlier that day? Sorry about what?

Charlie came back inside and wandered over to stand in front of her. ‘You were great with Tilly. Thanks.’

‘There’d be something wrong if I wasn’t. Little girls are somewhat my specialty these days.’

Charlie chuckled. ‘Still, you didn’t…’

‘What? Choke? Like last night?’

He smiled. ‘I was going to say freeze, but if you prefer choked…’

Carrie smiled. ‘Don’t judge me on what happened last night. I’m afraid I’m just not a clinician.’

But she was so good with Tilly. She’d been scared but he’d also heard compassion in her voice, seen it in the way she’d held the toddler close. And the way she had held that wound last night had been the epitome of professional technique. Maybe she was being too harsh on herself? ‘Really? Why? Did something happen?’

Carrie stood up. She couldn’t talk about this with a stranger. She found it hard enough to discuss with her nearest and dearest. ‘It’s just not me. I’m not…good with people…with patients. Fortunately I found that out early. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’

Carrie was at the door when his words halted her.

‘He died, you know. Three hours after getting to hospital.’

Her hand stilled on the handle. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, and walked out the door.

Charlie ran his finger back and forth along the rolled plastic edge of the chair where she’d been sitting. Quite the conundrum was Dr Carrie Douglas. She’d said she wasn’t good with people yet she’d taken the time to ring the hospital and find out what had happened to the man from last night.

Only the good ones did that.

CHAPTER THREE

BY FRIDAY lunchtime Carrie was looking forward to escaping for two days. The drop-in centre was a very intense place to be. It was full of drifting kids and angry young men and jaded-looking young women. It attracted the drugged, drunk, violent and abusive of all ages. Too many of the faces told a heartbreaking story about the chilling, gritty reality of life on the streets and below the poverty line.

Carrie had just tried to keep out of the way. Charlie had been right. It was utter chaos most days. A crazy three-ring circus. On steroids. It wasn’t her job to get involved. Her job was to complete a report for the hospital board on its riskiest enterprise. To establish the viability of the drop-in centre. And it wasn’t looking good.

So for the rest of the week she’d stayed in the staffroom, tapping away on her laptop, sorting through mounds of paperwork, ignoring the various noises she heard from the other side of the door. The very loud music, the bad language, the punch-ups, the hysterical girls, the angry parents and the police.

She had also ignored the regular troop of sweaty boys in and out of her work area as she’d worked through lunchtimes. And the sounds of good-natured competition drifting in through the high windows from the court outside. And the angry, tense exchanges that all too often broke out as recreation became serious.

And worst, the disturbing presence of Charlie as he teased, cajoled, laughed, pleaded, reasoned, flattered and coaxed his way into the hearts and minds of a bunch of tough kids living tough lives. It was clear he was well respected by the regulars. Her ears homed in on his strong authoritative voice each lunch-hour as he encouraged and mediated, pushing the teens to be their best.

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