With her arms full of the white silk train of Emily’s dress and the soft tulle of her veil, Hannah walked very slowly, her arm touching Ryan’s as he held the silk ribbons joining the wreaths on the heads of the bridal couple. They got a little tangled at the last corner, and there was a momentary pause.

And Ryan looked at her.

There was no mistaking the sensation of free fall. The feeling that all the cells in her body were charged with some kind of static electricity, desperately seeking a focus for their energy.

That focus was to be found in the depths of the dark eyes that were so close to her own. This was a connection that transcended anything remotely physical. The caress of that eye contact lasted only a heartbeat, but Hannah knew it would haunt her for life.

It was a moment of truth.

A truth she hadn’t expected.

One she most certainly did not want.

She was in love with Ryan Fisher.

Dear Reader,

How lucky am I?

To have colleagues who are also my friends, whose skills I have the utmost respect for, and who share a love of the genre and a dedication to making each story the best yet.

To work together and have the challenge of a scope broad enough to link several books, along with the sheer fun of intertwining the stories of each other’s characters, is an enriching experience.

So here we are, back in Crocodile Creek, and we’re throwing a cyclone at our own bit of northern Australia. Scary stuff!

I’m more likely to experience a bad earthquake or maybe a tsunami where I am in New Zealand, but it’s a good idea to be prepared for whatever dramatic turns nature can take, and we can get some bad storms at times.

Here’s what you can do if a strong wind warning is issued:

Bring your pets inside and move stock to shelter

Secure outdoor furniture

Tape across large windows to prevent shattering

Stay inside during storm

Partially open a window on the sheltered side of the house

Stay away from doors and windows

If you have to go outside, watch out for dangling and broken power lines

Is a cyclone enough of a link for our stories? We didn’t think so. There’s also a little boy called Felixx….

Happy reading!

Love,

Alison

The Playboy Doctor’s Proposal

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CROCODILE CREEK: 24-HOUR RESCUE

A cutting-edge medical center. Fully equipped for saving lives and loves!

Crocodile Creek’s state-of-the-art medical center and rescue response unit is home to a team of expertly trained medical professionals. These dedicated men and women face the challenges of life, love and medicine every day!

Look for three more stories revisiting Crocodile Creek in Harlequin® Medical Romance™.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘SHH, now, Felixx!’

‘Hush, OK?’

‘Silence. We have to have silence for Alanya to get well.’

For days this was all he’d heard, it seemed to Felixx. He crept around on the edge of Alanya’s illness, too scared to ask how bad she was, shut away from seeing her except for one or two short visits to the wellness shelter each day, during which he knew he had to be silent or she wouldn’t get better fast enough.

Sometimes he asked people, ‘How’s Mummy?’ He liked to call her Mummy because that’s who she was. She always wanted him to call her Alanya, because that was her spirit name, but as she couldn’t hear him right now, he said ‘Mummy’ and it helped a little bit.

The silence helped, too. He had to stay as quiet as anything, or she might not get well. He knew that, but it was so hard. The fish on his sneaker helped. Mummy had drawn it with his felt pens. Mostly the bright orange one. She’d done it the day he’d showed her the hole.

‘We can’t afford a new shoe just yet,’ she’d said. ‘So let’s make it special. The hole can be his eye, see?’

He could poke his finger in the hole. In and out. It was tight at first but now it was easy. His finger went in and out.

In and out.

It helped him to stay quiet. To stop the questions he so badly wanted to ask, like, ‘Mummy…Alanya…are you feeling better? Do you need more medicine?’

She didn’t seem to be eating very much. They gave her carrot juice to drink, to drain the toxins from her system. How long did toxins take to drain?

Where did they come out?

He was too scared to ask any of these questions, but he listened more than the healing sisters thought. He heard words like ‘worried’ and ‘taking too long’ and after this he stayed even quieter, stopped even asking, ‘How’s Mummy?’ in case his talking, even outside the healing shelter, was the thing stopping her from getting well.

Late one night…he couldn’t remember, maybe the sixth or seventh night of her illness…he couldn’t sleep, and crept over to the healing shelter because there was light coming from its windows. It was cold and his feet were bare and he didn’t dare go inside, but he listened underneath the window and heard more words. ‘Getting worse’ and ‘I don’t know’ and ‘ambulance’.

After this, everything got so confusing, when he thought about it he couldn’t think the way it had gone. He fell asleep on the couch on the veranda of the healing shelter, and a big car came with red lights. He hid under the blanket in case he got in trouble for being there. He heard men’s voices. ‘Too late’ and ‘useless’ and ‘bloody quack treatments’. Someone found him—Raina, one of the healing sisters—and he pretended to be asleep and she carried him gently in her arms to his bed, and by the time he got there he must have really been asleep because he didn’t remember anything else until morning.

Then there were more words—’ very peaceful’ and ‘gone away on the most wonderful journey’—but he was so good, he didn’t say anything himself in case it made Mummy…better call her Alanya…in case it made her worse. A lot of boring time went by. He wasn’t allowed to see her at all. He had some meals, breakfast and lunch. Were they saying it was Alanya who had gone on the wonderful journey? When was she coming back? He didn’t want to ask because that would not have been hushing and staying silent.

Raina sat him down and hugged him and kissed his forehead and told him, ‘Your auntie Janey is going to come and get you, sweetheart.’

He didn’t know he had an auntie Janey. He wanted to ask who she was and when she was coming but he was so, so good, he stayed quiet and silent and hushed and didn’t say a word.

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE not!’

‘Yes, I am. What’s the big deal? It’s only a few days off work.’

‘You never take days off work. In all the time I’ve known you, Hannah, and that’s, what—three years? You’ve never missed a shift.’

Senior Nurse Jennifer Bradley collected the paper emerging from the twelve-lead ECG machine and Dr Hannah Jackson cast an experienced eye over the results.

‘Bit of right heart failure—there’s notching on the P waves but everything else looks pretty good for an eighty-six-year-old. No sign of infarct.’

The elderly patient, who had been sound asleep while the recording was being taken, suddenly opened her eyes.

‘Give it back,’ she said loudly. ‘You’re a naughty girl!’

The complaint was loud enough to attract the attention of several staff members near the central desk. Heads turned in astonishment and Hannah sighed inwardly. One of them would be her fellow senior registrar, Ryan Fisher, wouldn’t it? And, of course, he had a grin from ear to ear on overhearing the accusation.

Jennifer was stifling a smile with difficulty. ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Matheson?’

‘She’s stolen my handbag! I’ve got a lot of money in my purse and she’s taken it, the little blonde trollop!’

Hannah heard a snigger from the small audience by the central desk. It would have been a good idea to pull the curtain of this cubicle but in the early hours of a Monday morning, with the emergency department virtually empty, it hadn’t seemed a priority.

‘Your handbag’s quite safe, Mrs Matheson,’ she said soothingly. ‘It’s in the bag with your other belongings.’

‘Show me!’

Hannah fished in the large, brown paper bag printed with the label PATIENT PROPERTY and withdrew a cavernous black handbag that must have been purchased at least forty years ago.

‘Give it to me!’

Hands gnarled with arthritis fumbled with the clasp. The bag was tipped upside down and several items fell onto Doris Matheson’s lap. The contents of the opened packet of peppermints rolled off to bounce on the floor and a number of used, screwed-up handkerchiefs were thrown after them.

‘There, I told you! There was a thousand dollars in here and it’s gone!’ A shaky finger pointed at Hannah. ‘She’s taken it! Call the police!’

Ryan wasn’t content to observe now. He was standing at the end of the bed. Faded blue eyes peered suspiciously at the tall, broad masculine figure.

‘Are you the police?’

Ryan flashed the ghost of a wink at both Jennifer and Hannah. ‘I’ve had some experience with handcuffs, if that’s any help.’

Hannah shut her eyes briefly. How did Ryan get away with this sort of behaviour? Sometimes, if he was any more laid back, he’d be asleep. What a shame Doris hadn’t stayed asleep. She was sniffing imperiously now.

‘Arrest that woman,’ she commanded.

‘Dr Jackson?’ Ryan eyed Hannah with great interest. She couldn’t help the way the corners of her mouth twitched. This was pretty funny. It was just a shame it was going to give Ryan ammunition he wouldn’t hesitate to use.

‘She’s stolen my money.’

Ryan stepped closer. He leaned down and smiled at Doris. One of those killer smiles he usually reserved for the women he was flirting with. Which was just about every female member of staff.

Except Hannah.

His voice was a deep, sexy rumble. ‘Really?’

Doris Matheson stared back. Her mouth opened and then closed. Hannah could swear she fluttered her eyelashes and stifled another sigh at the typical feminine reaction to being the centre of this man’s attention. The coy smile Ryan received was only surprising because of the age of their patient.

‘What’s your name, young man?’

‘Ryan Fisher, ma’am.’

‘And you’re a policeman?’

‘Not really.’ Ryan’s tone was that of a conspirator revealing a secret. ‘I’m a doctor.’

The charm he was exuding was palpable. Totally fake but, for once, Hannah could appreciate the talent. It wasn’t being directed at her, was it? She didn’t need to arm herself with the memories of the misery men like Ryan could cause the women who trusted them. It was certainly defusing a potentially aggravating situation here.

‘Ooh,’ Doris said. ‘Are you going to look after me?’

‘You’re about to go to X-Ray, Mrs Matheson,’ Hannah said.

‘What for?’

‘We think you’ve broken your hip.’

‘How did I do that?’

‘You fell over.’

‘Did I?’ The question, like the others, was directed at Ryan despite it being Hannah who was supplying the answers.

‘Yes.’ Hannah looped her stethoscope back around her neck. ‘And we can’t find any medical reason why you might have fallen.’ The cause had been obvious as soon as Hannah had been within sniffing distance of her patient. She hadn’t needed the ambulance officer’s report of an astonishing number of empty whisky bottles lined up on window-sills.

Ryan was smiling again but with mock severity this time. ‘Have you had something to drink tonight, Mrs Matheson?’

She actually giggled. ‘Call me Doris, dear. And, yes, I do like a wee dram. Helps me sleep, you know.’

‘I’m sure it does, Doris.’ Ryan’s tone was understanding. He raised an eyebrow. ‘But it can make it difficult to remember some things, too, can’t it?’

‘Ooh, yes.’ Doris was looking coy again. ‘Do you know, I almost forgot where the bathroom was one night?’

‘Did you forget how much money you might have had in your purse, too?’

‘I never keep money in my purse, dear! It might get stolen.’

‘It might, indeed.’ Hannah got a ‘there you go, all sorted’ kind of glance from Ryan. She tried hard to look suitably grateful.

‘I keep it in the fridge,’ Doris continued happily. ‘In the margarine tub.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ryan stepped back as an orderly entered the cubicle. ‘Maybe I’ll see you when you get back from X-Ray, Doris.’

‘Oh, I hope so, dear.’

Hannah held up her hand as her patient’s bed was pushed away. ‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.

‘Say what?’ Ryan asked innocently.

‘Anything about naughty girls,’ Jennifer supplied helpfully. ‘Or arresting them. And especially nothing about handcuffs.’

‘Not even fluffy ones?’

Jennifer gave him a shove. ‘Go away. Try and find something useful to do.’

They were both laughing as Ryan walked away. Relaxed. Enjoying the diversion of an amusing incident. But Jennifer could afford to enjoy Ryan’s company, couldn’t she? Happily married with two adorable small children at home, she was in no danger of being led astray.

Neither was Hannah, of course. She knew too much about men like Ryan Fisher. Great-looking, fun men like the ones who’d made her mother’s life a misery after her dad died, not to mention the guy who’d broken her sister’s heart not so long ago.

Hannah only ever let herself get involved with nice, trustworthy, serious men like her father had been. She’d believed herself to be totally immune to men of Ryan’s ilk.

Until three months ago.

Until she’d met Ryan Fisher.

Jennifer was still smiling as she tidied the ECG leads away. ‘I still can’t believe you’re taking time off,’ she told Hannah. ‘I’ve never even known you to be sick. You’re the one who always fills in for other people like Ryan when they take days off work.’

Hannah glanced towards the central desk. Ryan—the king of holidays and all other good things life had to offer—was now leaning casually on the counter, talking to a tired-looking receptionist. Probably telling her one of his inexhaustible supply of dumb blonde jokes. Sure enough, a smile was starting to edge the lines of weariness from Maureen’s face.

‘I’m going to check the trauma room while it’s quiet,’ Hannah told Jennifer.

‘I’ll help you.’ Hannah’s news of taking time off had clearly intrigued her friend, who didn’t consider their conversation finished. ‘And there I was thinking that, if I didn’t drag you out occasionally, you’d spend all your time off studying or something.’

Hannah picked up the laryngoscope on top of the airway trolley and pulled the blade open to check that the battery for the light was still functional. ‘Are you saying I have no life?’

‘I’m saying your career takes the prize as your raison d’etre.’

‘I always wanted to be a doctor.’ Hannah snapped the blade back in line with its handle, switching off the light. ‘Now that I am one, I intend to be a very good one.’

‘You are a very good one. The best.’

‘We’ll see.’ The glance between the two women acknowledged the growing speculation within the department over who was going to win the new consultant position. She had been the only serious contender until Ryan had thrown his hat into the ring today. Was that why she was so aware of his presence in the department tonight? Why everything about him seemed to be rubbing her up the wrong way even more than usual?

‘Anyway…’ The wind had been taken out of Jenny’s sails, but not by much. She opened a box of syringes to restock the IV trolley. ‘You don’t need to prove how good you are by living and breathing emergency medicine.’

‘So you’re saying I’m an emergency department geek?’ Hannah tilted the ceiling-mounted, operating-theatre light so it was in a neutral position. It would be fair enough if she was. Hannah loved this space. Fabulous lighting, X-ray and ultrasound facilities, every piece of equipment they could possibly need to cover the basics of resuscitation and stabilisation of a critically ill patient. Airway, breathing, circulation. To be faced with a life-threatening emergency and succeed in saving that life was all the excitement Hannah needed in her life.

Jenny caught her expression and clicked her tongue with mock exasperation. ‘I’m just saying you could do with more in your life than work.’

‘And that’s precisely why I’m taking a few days off.’

‘Touché.’ Jenny grinned, magnanimous in defeat. ‘OK.’ She shoved the syringes into their allocated slot and then used her forefinger to stir the supply of luer plugs and IV connectors, pretending to count. ‘So where the hell is Crocodile Creek, anyway?’

‘Australia. Far north Queensland.’

‘Oh! Has this got something to do with your sister?’

‘Yes. I’ve been invited to a wedding.’

‘Susie’s getting married?’

‘No, though I’m sure she’d be over the moon if it was her wedding. She’s being a bridesmaid to her best friend, Emily.’

‘Do you know Emily?’

‘No.’

‘So why have you been invited to her wedding?’

‘Well…’ Hannah leaned against the bed for a moment. It wasn’t often they got a quiet spell, even at 2 a.m. on a Monday morning and the break hadn’t gone on long enough to get boring yet. ‘Susie didn’t have a partner to invite and we haven’t seen each other since she jumped the ditch and came to New Zealand for Christmas. I’m starting to feel guilty about how long it’s been.’

‘It’s only March and it’s a hell of a long way to go to ease a guilty conscience. Auckland to Cairns is about a six-hour flight, isn’t it?’

‘It sure is.’ Hannah groaned. ‘And then there’s the little plane from Cairns to Crocodile Creek, which will take another couple of hours, I guess.’

‘It must be a long way north.’

‘About as far as you can get. The hospital there is the rescue base for the whole of far north Queensland. That’s why I need the Friday on top of the weekend. I have to get right into the heartland of sugar and cane toads.’

‘Eew!’

‘Actually, it’s right on the coast. It sounds gorgeous.’

‘You’ve never been there before?’

‘No, and Susie’s been living there for as long as I’ve been working here. It’s high time I checked out what my little sister is up to.’

‘I thought you were twins.’

By tacit consent, the doctor and nurse were leaving the trauma room, satisfied it was ready for a new emergency. Hopefully, they’d be back in there soon with some real work to do.

‘She’s four minutes younger than me.’

‘And she’s a physiotherapist, right?’

‘Yeah. She started medical school with me but she hated it. Too much pressure.’

‘You must be quite different.’

‘Personality-wise, definitely. To look at, no. We’re identical.’

‘Wow! Do you have, like, that twin thing?’

‘Which “twin thing” is that?’ They were near the central desk now. Ryan had disappeared, presumably into the only cubicle with a drawn curtain. The nurse on triage duty, Wayne, was sitting, drumming his fingers on the counter.

‘You know, when one twin sprains her ankle, say, here in Auckland and the other twin falls over in a supermarket in central London.’

Hannah laughed, dismissing the suggestion with a shake of her sleek head. But was it so ridiculous? Was it just that she was missing a sister who had always also been her best friend or did those niggling doubts about how happy Susie was have a basis in some form of telepathic communication? Was the urge to travel thousands of miles at a very inconvenient time to attend the wedding of two people she only knew through Susie’s emails just an excuse?

‘Apparently this wedding is going to be great fun.’ Hannah tried to find a more rational explanation for the urge she hadn’t been able to resist. ‘The groom, Mike, is Greek and his parents own a boutique hotel right in the cove. Susie reckons it’ll be the biggest party the Creek has ever seen.’

Jennifer’s peal of laughter made several heads turn.

‘What’s so funny?’ Hannah’s eye was caught by the light on the radio receiver that linked the department with the ambulance service. It was blinking.

Jennifer could hardly get the words out clearly. ‘You’re going to My Big Fat Creek Wedding!’

Grinning, Hannah still managed to beat Wayne to the microphone. ‘Emergency Department.’

‘Auckland four eight here. How do you receive?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Hannah responded, her grin fading rapidly. ‘Go ahead.’

‘We’re coming to you from the scene of a high-speed multiple MVA. The chopper’s just landing to collect a second seriously injured patient who’s currently trapped, but we’re coming to you with a status-one seven-year-old boy.’

The grin had long gone. Status one was as serious as it could get. Under CPR, not breathing or uncontrollable haemorrhage were all possibilities for the priority designation. This ambulance would be coming towards the hospital under lights and sirens.

‘Injuries?’

‘Head and facial trauma. Partially unrestrained front-seat passenger—the safety belt wasn’t latched securely.’

This wasn’t the time to feel angry at someone failing to strap a child into a car seat properly. Or to wonder why they were travelling at 2 a.m. in the first place.

‘Vital signs?’

‘GCS of 3.’

The child was profoundly unconscious. Quite possibly due to bleeding around his brain.

‘Airway?’

‘Unsecured.’ The paramedic raised his voice as the siren came on in the background. The vehicle must be in heavier traffic now. At night, just having the beacons flashing could be enough warning of the urgency of their mission. ‘There’s severe facial trauma and swelling. We’ve got an OP airway in but that’s all.’

The boy needed intubation. Securing an airway and optimising oxygen levels were a priority in a head injury. Especially in a child because they had a greater chance of neurological recovery than an adult after a head injury and therefore warranted aggressive treatment in the early stages. If the paramedics had been unable to intubate due to the level of trauma, it could mean that this was going to be a challenging case.

Hannah could feel her adrenaline levels rising and the tension was spreading. Nearby staff were all listening avidly and the curtain on cubicle 4 flicked back to reveal that Ryan was also aware of what was happening. Hannah’s heightened awareness registered the interest and at some subconscious level something like satisfaction was added to the emotional mix. She was taking this call.

This would be her case, not Ryan’s. Just the kind of case she needed to showcase the skills that would be a major consideration in choosing the new consultant for the department.

‘What’s the oxygen saturation level?’ she queried briskly.

‘Ninety-four percent.’

Too low. ‘Blood pressure?’

‘One-thirty over sixty-five. Up from one-twenty five minutes ago.’

Too high for a seven-year-old. And rising. It could well be a sign of increasing intracranial pressure.

‘Heart rate?’

‘One hundred. Down from about one-thirty.’

Too slow for Hannah’s peace of mind. And dropping. It could also be a worrying sign. ‘What’s your ETA?’

‘Approximately five minutes.’

‘We’ll be ready for you.’ Casting a glance over her shoulder, Hannah could see Ryan moving towards the resuscitation area she and Jennifer had just checked. Not that she was about to decline any assistance for dealing with the incoming case but she didn’t want Ryan taking over. It wasn’t as though there was only one victim arriving, was it? She pushed the button on the microphone again.

‘Do you know the ETA for the chopper?’

‘Negative. Fire service is on scene, though.’

It shouldn’t take them long to cut the second victim clear of the wreckage, then. ‘And that’s also a status-one patient?’

‘Affirmative. Chest trauma. It’s the mother of our patient.’

Ryan would be able to lead the team on that case. In resus 2. Or they could share the main trauma room if necessary. Hannah’s plan of action was forming rapidly as she replaced the microphone.

‘Put out a call for an anaesthetist, please, Wayne,’ she directed. ‘And let’s get a neurosurgical consult down here. Sounds like we might need someone from Plastics, too. Jenny, you’re on the trauma team tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you, Wayne?’

‘Yes. Resus 1?’

Hannah nodded, already moving towards the area. She pulled one of the protective plastic aprons from the large box on the wall. Ryan was already tying his behind his back.

‘Could be a tricky airway management,’ he said.

‘Mmm. I’ve called for some anaesthetic back-up but I’ll see how I go.’ The direct look Hannah gave Ryan could leave him in no doubt that she intended to lead this resuscitation effort. The subtle twitch of an eyebrow let her know the message had been received and understood. It also hinted at amusement rather than intimidation.

‘I’ll stay until the mother gets here,’ he said calmly. ‘In case you need a hand.’

‘Thanks.’ The acknowledgement was perfectly sincere. There was a child’s life at stake here and Hannah would never let any personal considerations affect her performance. She would stand back in a flash if she thought Ryan’s skills would improve the management. Never mind that he would get the credit for managing a difficult case.

It was just annoying that people that mattered were keeping a count of those credits at present. And disappointing that a competitive edge of any kind had crept into Hannah’s working environment when one of the things she loved best about her work was the way a team of people could work together and the only kudos that really mattered was a successful outcome to that work.

The decision on the consultant’s position was only a week or two away. A position that represented everything Hannah was striving towards in a career she was passionate about. Why had Ryan decided to compete at the last minute like this? It wasn’t as if he really needed the position. He didn’t have a massive student loan, the repayments of which would benefit enormously from an increase in salary. He didn’t need to prove himself in a field that was still dominated by males in senior positions. He was an Australian. Auckland wasn’t even his home town.

She couldn’t help flicking a glance towards the tall man who had now donned protective eyewear and a pair of gloves and was lounging at the head end of the bed. Why hadn’t Ryan Fisher just stayed on his side of the ditch? In that Sydney emergency department where he’d honed his not inconsiderable skills? Life would be so much easier if he had. And it wasn’t just due to that professional competition.

Jenny pushed the IV trolley into an easily accessible position and then stood on tiptoe to check that the tubes attached to the overhead suction and oxygen supplies were firmly in place. It was still a stretch for her short stature and Ryan was quick to step forward.

Without a word, he saved Jenny the awkward task and then gave her one of those killer smiles in response to her thanks. The senior nurse turned back to the IV trolley but Hannah noticed the extra glance that went in Ryan’s direction.

Not that he had noticed. The registrar was lounging again, his keen glance taking in the mill of the gathering trauma team and registering the growing tension.

The few minutes before the arrival of a serious case was a strange time. A calm before a storm of unknown proportions. Equipment was primed and ready. Staff were wearing protective gear and waiting. Wayne stood behind a kind of lectern that had the paperwork necessary to document every moment of the resuscitation effort and he was fiddling with a pen.

Hannah had pulled on gloves and was unrolling the airway pack on the top of a stainless-steel trolley. Others were simply standing. Waiting. There was nothing to do until their patient came rolling through those double doors. Nobody liked to speculate in too much detail on what was about to arrive because that could give them tunnel vision. A conversation that required distraction of mental focus was just as unwanted. What usually happened was a bit of gossip or a joke. Light-hearted banter that could relieve tension before it achieved destructive proportions. Something that could be abandoned as easily as begun.

And Ryan could always be counted on to provide a joke that would make everybody laugh.

Everybody except Hannah. She made a point of never laughing at Ryan’s jokes because the vast majority of them were at the expense of women with blonde hair. Like hers.

Sure enough, he was telling one now.

‘So this blonde—Cindy—is in desperate financial straights and she prays for help. “Please, God, let me win the lottery or I’ll have to sell my car.” But she doesn’t win so she prays again, “Please, God, let me win the lottery. I’m going to have to sell my car and my house.”’

Everybody was listening. Or half listening. Waiting for the distant wail of the siren that would advertise that the calm was over. Hannah kept her gaze on the trolley, checking that there was a range of paediatric-sized tubes and that the laryngoscope was still working.

She didn’t have to look at Ryan to know exactly what the image would be. He would be standing completely at ease with just a hint of a smile and a twinkle in those dark eyes that advertised an upcoming punchline. It might be a terrible joke but everybody would be listening and would be prepared to laugh because Ryan commanded that sort of attention. And popularity. Without even trying.

Hannah lips pressed themselves into a thinner line as she made sure that the more serious gear that might be needed for a surgical airway was at hand. No, it wasn’t just the professional competition that irked her. It was the fact that she had been as attracted to Ryan as every other woman who’d set eyes on him from the moment he’d arrived in this department three months ago.

It had been so unexpected. He was the epitome of the type of man she had always steered very well clear of. Despised, even, thanks to the collateral damage she had seen them produce in the lives of women she cared about. One of life’s golden people. She had probably been the first woman ever to freeze out an advance from him. Was that why he was persevering for so long? Did she represent some kind of challenge?

‘She still didn’t win,’ Ryan was continuing. ‘She’s down on her knees, pleading and this time God speaks to her.’ His voice dropped to a deep rumble that Hannah could actually feel in her bones. ‘And he says, “Work with me here, Cindy. Buy a ticket!”’

Sure enough, there was a wave of laughter. A wave that faded with dramatic swiftness, drowned out by the faint wail of a siren. Then the sound of the approaching siren died as it sped onto the hospital grounds with just its beacons flashing. Seconds later, the stretcher appeared. A third crew member was moving rapidly beside the stretcher, a bag-mask unit over the face of the child, trying to keep oxygen levels up on the short journey between the ambulance and the trauma bay.

The team went into action as a unit. The transfer of the small body was smooth—made easier by the fact he was strapped to a backboard with a collar to protect his neck. And although this team was well used to seeing victims of major trauma, it was a shock to get their first close-up view of this little boy.

Waiting at the head of the bed to manage the airway, Hannah sucked in a quick breath that was almost a gasp. No wonder he hadn’t been intubated and it would have been far too dangerous to attempt a nasopharyngeal airway. His nose and mouth were almost lost beneath swollen and lacerated tissue. There were obvious facial fractures and the eyelids were so swollen it was impossible to open them enough to assess the pupils with a torch.

‘Do we know his name?’

‘Brendon,’ one of the paramedics supplied. ‘His mother was initially conscious enough to be calling for him.’

He was wearing pyjamas, Hannah noticed as she leaned forward. Bright red racing cars on a blue background. ‘Brendon, can you hear me?’ She reached over his shoulder. Why had he been in a car in pyjamas instead of safely asleep in his bed? ‘Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, sweetheart.’

A response hadn’t really been expected and Hannah moved swiftly to take the tip of the suction unit Jennifer was holding. The child was moving air but there was a nasty bubbling sound and the probe on his finger revealed an oxygen saturation level that was far too low to be acceptable.

‘Rapid sequence intubation?’

‘If it’s possible.’ Hannah’s gaze flicked up, relieved to find one of the senior anaesthetic registrars now standing right beside her.

Ryan was on the other side of the bed and farther down, moving in to assess IV access and flow and to look for other potential injuries as the pyjamas were cut clear of the small body.

ECG electrodes were being attached. Jennifer was using a bag mask to assist the delivery of oxygen. Hannah suctioned as much blood as she could from Brendon’s mouth and nose.

‘I can’t see anything that clearly looks like CSF,’ she said. Not that that discounted the possibility of skull fractures or spinal damage.

‘Saturation’s down to ninety per cent. Let’s go for the intubation,’ the anaesthetist advised. He took the bag mask from Jennifer and began to squeeze it rapidly, increasing the amount of oxygen reserves to cover the down time for trying to get a tube into Brendon’s throat. He was clearly prepared to provide back-up rather than taking over the procedure.

Hannah drew in a slow breath to dispel any nerves. She heard herself issue instructions for the drugs needed, like suxamethonium to relax muscles and atropine to prevent the heart slowing dangerously. The formula for determining the size of the endotracheal tube was there instantly—the diameter equalled the age of the child divided by four, plus four.

‘I’ll need a 6 millimetre, uncuffed tube,’ she informed Jennifer. ‘And I want you to hold his head while we ease this collar off.’

It was a challenge, easing the blade of the laryngoscope past the swollen lips, broken teeth and a badly lacerated tongue, and Hannah had to use the suction unit more than once. It was an unexpectedly easy victory to visualise the vocal cords and slip the tube into place.

‘I’m in.’ The tone was one of satisfaction rather than triumph, however. There was still a long way to go but at least they were on the way to stabilising a critically ill patient.

‘Well done.’

With her stethoscope now on Brendon’s chest to check for correct tube placement and equal air entry, the quiet words of praise were muted and, for a moment, Hannah thought they might have come from Ryan.

But he was no longer standing beside Brendon. Hannah had been concentrating so hard on her task she had managed to block the sounds of the second patient’s arrival and the stretcher was now being swiftly manoeuvred to the other side of the trauma room.

‘Blunt chest trauma with tachycardia and hypotension. No sign of a tension pneumothorax.’ she heard Ryan stating. ‘We could be dealing with an acute pericardial tamponade.’

Would Ryan attempt a procedure to drain off the fluid inhibiting the function of the young mother’s heart? It would be a very impressive coup as far as patient treatment if it was successful. Hannah couldn’t help casting frequent glances towards his side of the room as she worked with the anaesthetist to get Brendon’s ventilator setting right, supervised the amount of IV fluid that was being administered, started an infusion of mannitol, which could help reduce intracranial pressure, and arranged transfer for an urgent CT scan of the boy’s head and neck.

Sure enough, Ryan was preparing to intubate his patient, cardiac monitoring was established and kits requested for both pericardiocentesis and chest drainage. Ryan looked determined and confident but less than happy about the challenge he was about to face. And no wonder. From what Hannah could see, the woman’s condition was deteriorating rapidly.

Ominous extra beats were disrupting the line of the ECG trace on the screen of the monitor.

There was time for one more, rapid secondary survey on Brendon before he was taken to the CT suite.

‘Some of these bruises look old,’ she commented.

‘Maybe he plays rugby,’ Jennifer suggested.

‘You reckon his mother does as well?’ Wayne had been helping Ryan’s team in the initial preparation of his patient. ‘She’s covered in bruises as well.’

Hannah eyed the clothing remnants Wayne was putting into a patient property bag. ‘Dressing-gown?’ she queried.

He nodded. ‘I don’t think their trip was planned.’

A police officer was standing well to one side of the now crowded area. ‘Have any relatives been contacted?’ Hannah asked him.

‘We didn’t need to. The car she was driving had just been reported stolen.’ The police officer’s face was grim. ‘By her husband.’

Hannah absorbed the information like a kind of physical blow. Was her patient an innocent young victim caught up in a situation involving domestic violence? Had his mother’s desperate bid to protect him ended in a disaster he might never recover from? Would he even still have a mother?

It seemed unlikely. Ryan was sounding uncharacteristically tense as Brendon’s stretcher was taken through the double doors on the way to CT.

‘We’ve got VF. She’s arrested. Charging to 200 joules. Stand clear!’ He looked up as he recharged the paddles. ‘Hannah, are you free?’

Hannah’s hesitation was only momentary. She had been planning to follow protocol and accompany Brendon but he already had an expert medical escort in the anaesthetic registrar. She knew what Ryan would do if the roles were reversed and she asked for assistance. Hannah turned back.

‘I’m free,’ she said quietly. ‘What do you need?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WE’VE got sinus rhythm.’

Ryan dropped the defibrillator paddles with relief. The same kind of relief he’d noted when Hannah had turned back to help before he’d delivered that last shock. Not that he’d doubted he could count on her in a professional capacity. He could see her pulling on gloves and positioning herself beside the tray containing the pericardiocentesis and chest drain kits as he reached to check his patient’s pulse.

‘Carotid is barely palpable,’ he reported grimly.

‘Systolic pressure is fifty-nine,’ Wayne confirmed.

‘Let’s shut down the IV. Just run it enough to keep the vein open,’ Ryan ordered. ‘There’s been no response to a fluid challenge and if we’re dealing with thoracic haemorrhage it’ll only be making things worse.’

‘Ventricular ectopics starting again.’ Hannah had an eye on the monitor screen. ‘And the systolic pressure is dropping. Down to fifty-five.’

The patient was threatening to arrest again. Ryan reached for a scalpel and Hannah had the forceps ready to hand him a moment later. Then the cannula for the chest drain. In less than a minute, blood was draining freely into the bottle. Too freely. All too soon, the bottle was almost full.

‘Have we got someone from Cardiothoracic on the way?’

‘No.’ Jennifer shook her head at Ryan’s terse query. ‘Sorry. They’re unavailable for fifteen to twenty minutes. They’re tied up in Theatre with a post-bypass complication.’

‘Have we got a thoracotomy kit?’ He could almost hear a collective intake of breath. ‘She’s exsanguinating from a chest injury and about to go into cardiac arrest again. A thoracotomy might be a long shot but it’s the only hope we’ve got.’ Ryan knew the statistics were not on his side but at least they would be doing something other than watching this woman bleed to death.

Hannah nodded once, as though she had gone through the same thought processes and was in agreement with him. ‘Want me to scrub as well?’

‘Yes. Thanks.’

Wayne was sent to find the rarely used sterile kit. Jennifer took over the task of manually ventilating their patient. Ryan scrubbed fast. Ideally he should have the chest opened in less than two minutes. Faster, if there was another cardiac arrest.

‘Have you done this before?’ Hannah squeezed soap into her hands beside him.

‘Yes. You?’

‘Never even seen it.’

‘Know the indications?’

‘Penetrating thoracic injury with traumatic arrest or unresponsive hypotension or blunt injury with unresponsive hypotension or exsanguination from the chest tube. Overall survival is between four and thirty-three per cent but higher for penetrating injury.’

‘We’ve got VF again,’ Jennifer warned. ‘No…it’s asystole.’

Speed was now critical. A flat-line ECG meant that the heart couldn’t be shocked into producing a rhythm again. Chest compressions on someone with blunt trauma were also contraindicated because it could worsen the injury. Opening the chest was the only option with any hope at all now.

It was good that Hannah had never seen the technique. Explaining things as he started this incredibly invasive procedure somehow eased the tension of a desperate measure to save a life.

‘We’ll make bilateral thoracotomies in the fifth intercostal space, mid-axillary line—same as for a chest drain.’ Ryan worked swiftly with a scalpel and then a heavy pair of scissors. ‘I’ll be ready for the Gigli saw in a sec.’

He showed her how to use the serrated wire saw, drawing a handle under the sternum with a pair of forceps and then joining the handles and using smooth, long strokes to cut through the sternum from the inside out.

Hannah was ready with the rib spreaders. For someone who hadn’t done this before, her calmness and ability to follow direction was a huge bonus.

‘You can see why this is called a “clam shell” thoracotomy,’ he said as he spread the ribs away from the anterior incisions. ‘Suction, thanks.’ Ryan sucked out blood and clots from the chest cavity, hoping it would be enough for the heart to start beating again spontaneously.

It wasn’t.

‘Where’s she bleeding from?’

‘Haven’t found it yet.’ Ryan placed both hands around the heart. ‘I’m starting internal cardiac massage. Can you find and compress the aorta against the spine, Hannah? We want to maximise coronary and cerebral perfusion. I’ll clamp it in a minute.’

She was totally out of her depth here. It was a huge relief when back-up from the cardiothoracic surgeons finally arrived. They were impressed with Ryan’s management of the case so far, which was hardly surprising. Hannah wouldn’t have had the confidence or skill to go further than the chest drain insertion.

The thought that Ryan might deserve the consultant’s position more than she did was not a pleasant one.

Edged out as people with far more experience than she had took over, Hannah could only watch. It was hard, feeling the tension and increasing frustration as they failed to get the young woman’s heart started again, having controlled the haemorrhage from the damaged aorta.

Maureen’s signal, with the message that Brendon was now in the paediatric ICU and an invitation to discuss the results of the CT scan with the consultant, was welcome. Hannah slipped, unnoticed, from the resuscitation area.

She couldn’t afford to stand around admiring Ryan’s skill and thinking how easily he might win the position she’d wanted for so long. Or to share his disappointment at the inevitable failure he was facing. Empathy would create a connection that was too personal. Even worse than laughing at one of his stupid jokes. It would only make it that much harder to maintain the necessary distance between them.

Any reduction in that distance could only make her vulnerable.

And Hannah Jackson did not do vulnerable.

She’d always been the strong one. Ever since she was ten years old and her father’s sudden death had made her small family almost fall apart. Hannah had been strong for her mother. For Susie. For herself.

The lesson had been hard but valuable. Strength was protection. The only way to get through life without being scarred too deeply.

Being too tired didn’t help when it came to being strong.

When Hannah entered the staffroom nearly an hour later, she could feel Ryan’s dejection all too easily. He had his back to her as he made coffee but his body language said it all. Slumped shoulders. Bent head. The way he was stirring his mug so slowly. If it had been any other colleague she wouldn’t have hesitated in offering commiseration. A comforting touch or even a hug. But this was Ryan. Distance was obligatory.

‘No go, huh?’

‘Nah.’ Ryan straightened his back. ‘Didn’t really expect to win that one but it was worth a try. Want coffee?’

‘Sure, but I’ll make it.’

Ryan was already spooning coffee into a second mug. ‘You take sugar?’

‘No.’

‘Milk?’

‘No.’

He’d been in the department for three months and didn’t know how she took her coffee but she was willing to bet he’d know the preferences of all the female staff who responded to his flirting. And that was every one of them.

Except her.

‘So how’s your little guy, then?’

‘Not flash. He’s in paediatric ICU but the scan was horrible. Multi-focal bleeds. If he does survive, he’ll be badly brain damaged.’

‘Might be better if he doesn’t, then. You saw the father?’

‘Yeah.’ There was no need for further comment. The glance Ryan gave Hannah as he handed her the mug of black coffee told her he shared her opinion that the man she’d had to talk to about the serious condition of his child was an uncaring brute. Responsible for the death of his wife and quite likely his son, not to mention the admittedly less serious injuries sustained by the other drivers involved, and he hadn’t given the impression of being overly perturbed about any of it. ‘And they can’t even charge him for anything.’

‘No.’ Ryan went and sat down on one of the comfortable armchairs dotted around the edge of the room.

The silence was heavy. Too heavy.

Ryan cleared his throat. ‘Hey, have you heard the one about the blonde who didn’t like blonde jokes?’

Hannah sighed. She sat down at the central table, deliberately putting Ryan out of sight behind her right shoulder. Maybe it wasn’t good to sit in a depressed silence but this was going a bit too far in the other direction, wasn’t it? She sipped her coffee without saying anything but Ryan clearly ignored the signals of disinterest.

‘She went to this show where a ventriloquist was using his dummy to tell blonde jokes. You know, like, how do you change a blonde’s mind?’ He raised his voice and sounded as though he was trying to speak without moving his lips. “Blow in her ear!” And what do you do if a blonde throws a pin at you? “Run, she’s still holding the grenade.”’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Hannah allowed herself to sound annoyed. ‘I know.’

‘Well, so did this blonde in the audience. She was furious. She jumps to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this”, she shouts. “How dare you stereotype women this way? What does the colour of someone’s hair have to do with her worth as a human being? It’s people like you that keep women like me from reaching my full potential. You and your kind continue to perpetrate discrimination against not only blondes but women in general and it’s not funny!”’

‘Mmm.’ Despite herself, Hannah was listening to the joke. So Ryan was actually aware of why someone like herself might take offence at his humour? Interesting. Did that mean he was intentionally trying to get under her skin? That his charm with her was as fake as it had been with Doris Matheson and he actually disliked her type as much as she did his?

Ryan’s tone was deadpan. ‘The ventriloquist was highly embarrassed. He goes red and starts apologising profusely but the blonde yells at him again. “Stay out of this, mister. I’m talking to that little jerk on your knee!”’

Hannah snorted. Somehow she managed to disguise the reluctant laughter as a sound more like derision. She didn’t want to laugh, dammit! Not at one of Ryan’s jokes and not when she’d just been through a gruelling, heart-breaking and probably fruitless couple of hours’ work. She knew exactly why he was trying to make her laugh. It had to be the quickest way of defusing an overly emotional reaction to a case. But if she let him make her feel better, it would be worse than empathising with him. She could feel the connection there, waiting to happen. It needed dealing with. She had to push Ryan as far away as possible.

‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘I thought you might appreciate that one.’

‘What makes you think I’m in the mood for jokes right now?’ Hannah swivelled so that she could give Ryan a direct look. ‘Doesn’t anything dent your warped sense of humour? Even a battered wife who died trying to get her child to a safe place?’

‘That’s precisely why I thought a joke might be a good idea,’ Ryan said wearily. ‘Sorry, maybe I should have left you to wallow in how awful it was. Maybe question your abilities and wonder endlessly what you might have been able to do better.’

‘It might be more appropriate than telling jokes.’

‘Really? What if another major case comes in in the next five minutes, Hannah? You going to be in a fit state to give that person the best you can?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Well, lucky you. Some of us need to distract ourselves. Lift our spirits a bit. There’s always time for wallowing later.’

‘I don’t believe you ever wallow,’ Hannah snapped. She wasn’t going to admit that even that stifled snort of laughter had done something to ease the emotional downside of this job. She’d rather believe that it was being able to channel her frustration and anger into a confrontation that had been building for some time. ‘And you distract yourself often enough to be a liability in this department. You’ve been here, what, three months? And how many times have you taken time off to flit back to Australia? Four, five times? I should know—it’s usually me that does extra shifts to cover the gaps.’

This distraction was working wonderfully well. Hannah was really hitting her stride.

‘You know your problem, Ryan? You’re shallow. You’re so intent on having a fun life you can’t even spare the time to think about someone else.’

‘Oh?’ Ryan was staring at Hannah and she’d never heard him use such an icy tone. ‘Shallow, am I?’

‘You might find it more beneficial to your career to review cases like we’ve just had. You never know. Try having a professional discussion with a colleague next time instead of telling stupid jokes. You might learn something.’

‘From you?’ Ryan snorted. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Why?’ Hannah’s tone was waspish. ‘Because I’m blonde?’

‘No.’ Ryan stood up, abandoning his cup of coffee. ‘Because you’re less experienced professionally and far less competent when it comes to relationships between people. You’re judgmental, Dr Jackson, and you don’t even bother finding out the facts before you make those judgments.’

He stalked behind Hannah and she had to swivel her head to keep glaring at him as he made his parting shot. ‘And when I’m consultant, it might be nice if you made me coffee, babe. Not the other way round.’

‘Dream on, mate!’ What a pathetic rejoinder. Hannah could only hope Ryan would take it as she meant it—referring to the consultancy position and not the coffee-making.

Jennifer came in a few seconds after Ryan had left. Her eyebrows had disappeared under her fringe.

‘What on earth’s wrong with Ryan? I’ve never seen him look so grumpy!’

‘He’s a grumpy man.’

Jennifer laughed. ‘He is not and you know it. He’s a lovely man and if you weren’t trying so hard not to like him you would have realised that by now.’

‘I’m not trying hard,’ Hannah protested. ‘It’s easy. Besides, it was your friend in Sydney that told you what a reputation he had for breaking hearts. The man needs an emotional health warning attached.’

Jennifer shook her head, smiling. ‘Yeah…right.’ She took another glance at Hannah. ‘You look pretty grumpy yourself.’

‘It’s been a bad night. I hate cases like that—especially when they shouldn’t have happened in the first place.’ She sighed again. ‘And I’m tired. Roll on 7 a.m.’

‘Roll on Friday more like. Isn’t that when you leave for a few days’ R & R in the sun?’

‘Sure is.’ Hannah’s spirits finally lifted—a lot more than Ryan’s joke had achieved. ‘You know, I’m finally really looking forward to this trip.’

‘I could do with some time away from this place myself. Could be just what the doctor ordered. For both of us.’

‘Mmm.’ Hannah’s agreement was wholehearted. But it wasn’t the place she needed the break from. A few days away from Ryan Fisher was definitely what this doctor was ordering.

Hannah Jackson could go to hell in a hand basket.

The glimpse of a woman with sleek blonde hair disappearing into the melee of economy class was enough of a reminder to sink Ryan Fisher’s spirits with a nasty jolt.

He slid his cabin baggage into the overhead locker with the same ease he slid his long body into the comfortable window seat at the rear of the business class section of the plane. Seconds later, he returned the smile of a very pretty young air hostess.

‘Orange juice would be lovely,’ he agreed. ‘Exactly what I need.’

The frosted glass was presented while economy-class passengers were still filing past, but Ryan killed the faintly embarrassed reaction to the envious glances. Why shouldn’t he travel in comfort? He had to do it often enough to make it a boring inconvenience and he’d decided he may as well make the travel as enjoyable as possible when the destination usually wasn’t.

At least this time he could look forward to what lay at the other end of his journey.

‘Is there anything else you need, sir?’

Ryan suppressed a wry smile along with the temptation to ask the crew member for a thousand things. How about a miraculous cure for a little girl in Brisbane that he had far more than just a bond of family with? Or perhaps freedom from the ridiculously powerful attraction he had felt for Hannah Jackson ever since he’d first laid eyes on her three months ago?

No. He was over that. As of last Monday night when she’d told him exactly what she thought of him. She hated him. He was shallow—telling jokes when he should be taking on board the misery of others. Lazy—taking time off to flit back to Australia to have fun at regular intervals. Out to win the job she felt was rightfully hers.

Ironic that he’d actually set out to catch Hannah’s attention by demonstrating his clinical ability. He hadn’t expected the head of department to twist his arm and put his name forward for the upcoming consultancy position but then he’d thought, Why not? The anchor of a permanent job could be just what he needed to sort out his life. And at least that way Hannah would see him as an equal.

Would really see him.

How idiotic would it be to waste any more time or emotional energy hankering after someone who didn’t even have any respect, let alone liking, for him?

‘No, thanks.’ He smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

Ryan sipped his chilled juice, stretching his legs into the generous space in front of him and enjoying the fact that the seat beside him was empty. So were both the seats on the opposite side of the aisle. There was, in fact, only one other occupant of business class and Ryan found himself listening to the well-dressed man with an American accent telling the air hostess that all he wanted was to go to sleep and could he have one of those eye covers? Apparently he hadn’t expected a diversion to Auckland or a night in an airport hotel and he’d had more than enough of travelling for now.

‘It should have been a straightforward trip to Sydney and then Cairns,’ he was saying. ‘Instead, I’m bunny-hopping through the south Pacific. Inefficient, that’s what it is.’

‘There’s been a few disruptions due to some bad weather,’ the hostess responded. ‘Hopefully we’ll be able to bypass it on this trip.’

Ryan didn’t care if they hit a few bumps. Despite what Hannah thought of him, he didn’t often get a smooth ride through life. OK, so maybe he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve and go around telling everyone his problems, but it was just as well, wasn’t it? Imagine how low he’d be feeling right now if he’d made it obvious just how attracted he’d been to Hannah and had been squashed like the bug she clearly thought he was?

Well, she wouldn’t get the opportunity now. No way. He wouldn’t have her if she threw herself at him. Wrapped up in a ribbon and nothing else.

A soft sound like a strangled groan escaped. That short flight into fantasy wasn’t likely to help anything. He drained his glass and handed it back as part of the preparation for take-off. Then he closed his eyes as the big jet rolled towards the end of the runway. Maybe he should follow the example of the other occupant of business class and escape into a few hours of peaceful oblivion.

The trip promised to be anything but restful. Hannah had an aisle seat, for which she was becoming increasingly grateful. It meant she could lean outwards.

She had to lean outwards because the man beside her was one of the fattest people Hannah had ever seen. He could easily have used up two seats all by himself but somehow he had squeezed in. Apart from the parts of his body that oozed through the gaps above and below the armrests and encroached considerably on Hannah’s space. Any sympathy for his obvious discomfort had been replaced by a more selfish concern about her own when the personality of her travelling companion began to reveal itself.

‘Name’s Blair,’ he boomed at her. ‘How’s it going?’ He certainly wasn’t shy. ‘They make these seats a bit bloody small these days, eh? Just want to pack us in like sardines so they make a profit.’

‘Mmm.’ And they were allocated the same amount of baggage weight, Hannah thought crossly. What would happen if every passenger was Blair’s size? Could the plane flip over because the baggage compartment was too light? Use twice as much fuel? Drop out of the sky?

Hannah wasn’t a great fan of flying. She leaned further into the aisle and gripped the armrest on that side as the plane gathered speed.

‘Not keen on flying, huh?’ Blair was leaning, too. ‘Wanna hold my hand?’

‘Ah…no, thanks.’ Hannah screwed her eyes shut. ‘I’m just fine.’

‘It’s OK. ‘ Blair was laughing as the wheels left the tarmac. ‘I’m single.’

There was no point pretending to be asleep because Blair didn’t seem to notice. He obviously liked to think aloud and kept himself amused by a running commentary on the choice of movies available, the tourist attractions of Cairns showcased in the airline magazine and the length of time it was taking for the cabin crew to start serving refreshments.

The reason for any delay was revealed when the captain’s voice sounded in the cabin.

‘G’ day, folks. Welcome aboard this Air New Zealand flight to Cairns. We’re expecting a bit of turbulence due to strong westerly winds courtesy of a tropical cyclone in the Coral Sea region going by the name of Willie. I’m going to keep the crew seated until we get through this next layer of cloud.’

Blair made a grumbling sound.

‘Once we’re cruising at around thirty-five thousand feet, things should get a bit smoother,’ the captain continued. ‘You’ll be free to move around the cabin at that point but I would suggest that while you’re in your seats you do keep your seat belts firmly fastened.’

Sure enough, the flight became smoother and the cabin crew began to serve drinks and meals. The steward that stopped beside Hannah cast a second glance at her companion, listened to him patiently while he complained about the delay in being fed and then winked at Hannah.

‘I’ll be back in a tick,’ he said.

When he returned, he bent down and whispered in Hannah’s ear. Then he opened the overhead locker and removed the bag she specified. Hannah unclipped her seat belt and stood up with a sigh of relief.

‘Hey!’ Blair was watching the removal of the bag with concern. ‘Where’re you going, darling?’

‘We’ve got a bit of room up front,’ the steward informed him. ‘I’m just juggling passengers a bit. If you lift the arm-rest there, Sir, I’m sure you’ll find the journey a lot more comfortable.’

Much to Hannah’s astonishment, ‘up front’ turned out to be an upgrade to business class. Her eyes widened as she realised she was going to have a window seat—no, both the seats—all to herself.

‘You’re an angel of mercy,’ she told the steward. ‘Wow! I’ve never flown business class before.’

‘Enjoy!’ The steward grinned. ‘I’ll make sure they bring you something to drink while you settle in and have a look at the breakfast menu.’

Hannah sank into the soft seat, unable to contain her smile. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes. Not much chance of developing a DVT here. There was any amount of elbow room, as well. She tested it, sticking her arms out like wings. She even flapped them up and down a little. Just as well there was no one to see her doing a duck impression.

Or was there? Hannah hadn’t yet considered the possibility of a passenger on the other side of the aisle. She turned her head swiftly, aware of a blush starting. And then she recognised the solitary figure by the window and she actually gasped aloud.

Glaring was probably the only description she could have used for the way Ryan Fisher was looking at her.

‘Oh, my God!’ Hannah said. ‘What are you doing here?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I WAS about to ask you the same thing.’

‘I got upgraded.’ Hannah hadn’t intended to sound defensive. Why did this man always bring out the worst in her? ‘Things were a bit crowded down the back.’

‘Here you go, Dr Jackson.’ A pretty, redheaded hostess held out a tray with a fluted glass on it. ‘And here’s the menu. I’ll come back in a minute to see what you’d like for breakfast.’

‘Thank you.’ Hannah took a sip of her juice and pretended to study the menu, which gave a surprisingly wide choice for the first meal of the day. There were hours of this flight left. Was she going to have to make conversation with Ryan the whole way?

It was some sort of divine retribution. Hannah had been feeling guilty ever since Monday night when she’d let fly and been so rude to a colleague. She couldn’t blame him for either the retaliation or the way he’d been avoiding her for the last few days. The personal attack had been unprofessional and probably undeserved. He couldn’t know where the motivation had come from and Hannah certainly couldn’t tell him but…maybe she ought to apologise?

She flicked a quick glance from the menu towards Ryan. He was still glaring. He wasn’t about to use their first meeting away from work to try building any bridges, was he?

Hannah wished she hadn’t looked. Hadn’t caught those dark eyes. She couldn’t open her mouth to say anything because goodness only knew what might shoot out, given the peculiar situation of being in this man’s company away from a professional setting. Imagine if she started and then couldn’t stop?

If she told him her whole life history? About the man her mother had really fallen in love with—finally happy after years of getting over her husband’s tragic death. Of the way she’d been used and then abandoned. Hannah had known not to trust the next one that had come along. Why hadn’t her mother been able to see through him that easily? Perhaps the attraction to men like that was genetic and too powerful to resist. It might explain why Susie had made the same mistake. Fortunately, Hannah was stronger. She might want Ryan Fisher but there was no way she would allow herself to have him.

Oddly, the satisfying effect of pushing him firmly out of her emotional orbit the other night was wearing off. Here she was contemplating an apology. An attempt at establishing some kind of friendship even.

Ryan hadn’t blinked.

Hannah realised this in the same instant she realised she could only have noticed because she hadn’t looked away. The eye contact had continued for too long and…Oh, God! What if Ryan had seen even a fraction of what she’d been thinking?

Attack was the best form of defence, wasn’t it?

‘Why are you staring at me?’

‘I’m still waiting for you to answer my question.’

‘What question?’

‘What you’re doing here.’

‘I told you, I got upgraded.’

‘You know perfectly well that wasn’t what I meant. What the hell are you doing on this flight?’

‘Going to Cairns.’ Hannah didn’t need the change in Ryan’s expression to remind her how immature it was to be so deliberately obtuse. She gave in. ‘I’ve got a connecting flight at Cairns to go to a small town further north in Queensland. Crocodile Creek.’

Lips that were usually in some kind of motion, either talking or smiling, went curiously slack. The tone of Ryan’s voice was also stunned.

‘You’re going to Crocodile Creek?’

‘Yes.’

‘So am I.’

‘Did you decide what you’d like for breakfast, Dr Jackson?’

‘What?’ Hannah hadn’t even noticed the approach of the redheaded stewardess. ‘Oh, sorry. Um…Anything’s fine. I’m starving!’

The stewardess smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can surprise you with.’ She turned to the other side of the aisle. ‘And you, Dr Fisher? Have you decided?’

‘I’ll have the fresh fruit salad and a mushroom omelette, thanks.’

Ryan didn’t want to be surprised by his breakfast. Maybe he’d just had enough of a surprise. As had Hannah. She waited only a heartbeat after the stewardess had moved away.

‘Is there a particular reason why you’re going to Crocodile Creek at this particular time?”

‘Sure is. I’m best man at my best mate’s wedding.’

‘Oh…’ Hannah swallowed carefully. ‘That would be…Mike?’

Ryan actually closed his eyes. ‘And you know that because you’re also invited to the wedding?’

‘Yes.’

Ryan made a sound like a chuckle but it was so unlike the laughter Hannah would have recognised she wasn’t sure it had anything to do with amusement. ‘Don’t tell me you’re lined up to be the bridesmaid.’

‘No, of course I’m not. I don’t know Emily that well.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘My sister’s the bridesmaid.’

Ryan’s eyes opened smartly. Hannah could have sworn she saw something like a flash of fear. Far more likely to be horror, she decided. He disliked her so much that the prospect of being a partner to her sister was appalling? That hurt. Hannah couldn’t resist retaliating.

‘My twin sister,’ she said. She smiled at Ryan. ‘We’re identical.’

Ryan shook his head. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘It is a bit of a coincidence,’ Hannah agreed, more cheerfully. Ryan was so disconcerted that she actually felt like she had control of this situation—an emotional upper hand—and that had to be a first for any time she had spent in Ryan’s company, with the exception of Monday night. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. ‘So, how come you know Mike so well?’

But Ryan didn’t appear to be listening. ‘There are two of you,’ he muttered. ‘Unbelievable!’

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Hannah was hungry enough to get stuck into the delicious hot croissants and jam she was served. Ryan was only halfway through his fruit salad by the time she had cleaned her plate and he didn’t look as though he was particularly enjoying the start of his meal.

Hannah had to feel sorry for him but she couldn’t resist teasing just a little. She adopted the same, slightly aggrieved tone he had been using only a short time ago.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘What question?’ Ryan wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. He looked genuinely bewildered.

‘How do you know Mike? The groom at this wedding we’re both going to.’

‘Oh…I was involved in training paramedics in the armed forces for a while, years ago. Mike was keen to add medical training to his qualifications as a helicopter pilot, having been in a few dodgy situations. We hit it off and have stayed in touch ever since.’ Ryan stirred the contents of his bowl with the spoon. ‘I was really looking forward to seeing him again,’ he added sadly. ‘The last real time we had together was a surfing holiday in Bali nearly three years ago. After he got out of the army but before he took himself off to the back of beyond.’

‘Crocodile Creek does seem a bit out of the way,’ Hannah had to agree. Besides, thinking about geography was a good way to distract herself from feeling offended that Ryan seemed to think all the pleasure might have been sucked from the upcoming weekend. ‘It was easy enough to hop on a plane to Brisbane to spend a day or two with Susie.’

‘I got the impression you never took time off.’

‘I don’t take rostered time off.’

‘Unlike me.’ Ryan said it for her. ‘’Cos you’re not lazy.’

Hannah wasn’t going to let this conversation degenerate into a personality clash. Here was the opportunity she had needed. ‘I never said you were lazy, Ryan. You work as hard as I do. You’re just more inclined to take time off.’

‘For the purposes of having fun.’

‘Well…yes…’ Hannah shrugged. ‘And why not?’ Would this count as an apology, perhaps? ‘All work and no play, etcetera.’

‘Makes Jack a dull boy,’ Ryan finished. ‘And Jill a very dull girl.’

Was he telling Hannah she was dull? Just a more pointed comment than Jennifer telling her she was an ED geek? If he saw her as being more fun—say at a wedding reception—would he find her more attractive?

Hannah stomped on the wayward thought. She didn’t want Ryan to find her attractive. She didn’t want to find him attractive, for heaven’s sake! It was something that had just happened. Like a lightning bolt. A bit of freak weather—like the cyclone currently brewing in the Coral Sea, which was again causing a bit of turbulence for the jet heading for Cairns.

The two cabin-crew members pushing a meal trolley through to economy class exchanged a doubtful glance.

‘Should we wait a bit before serving the back section?’

‘No.’ The steward who had been responsible for Hannah’s upgrade shook his head. ‘Let’s get it done, then we can clear up. If we’re going to hit any really rough stuff, it’ll be when we’re north of Brisbane.’

Hannah tightened her seat belt a little.

‘Nervous?’ Ryan must have been watching her quite closely to observe the action.

‘I’m not that keen on turbulence.’

‘Doesn’t bother me.’ Ryan smiled at Hannah. Or had that smile been intended for the approaching stewardess? ‘I quite like a bumpy ride.’

Hannah and Ryan both chose coffee rather than tea. Of course the smile had been for the pretty redhead. Likewise the comment that could easily have been taken as blatant flirting.

‘I don’t know Emily,’ Ryan said. ‘Maybe you can fill me in. She’s a doctor, yes?’

‘Yes. She’s Susie’s best friend.’

‘Susie?’

‘My sister.’

‘The clone. Right. So how long has she been in Crocodile Creek?’

‘About three years. She went to Brisbane to get some post-grad training after she finished her physiotherapy degree and she liked it so much she decided to stay.’

‘I thought she was a doctor.’

‘No. She started medical school with me but it wasn’t what she wanted.’

‘How come she lives in that doctors’ house that used to be the old hospital, then?’

‘She doesn’t.’

‘That’s not what Mike told me.’

‘Why would Mike be telling you about my sister?’

‘He wasn’t. He was telling me about his fiancée. Emily.’ Ryan groaned. ‘We’re not on the same page here, are we?’

‘No.’ And they never would be. ‘Sorry. I don’t know much about Emily either, except that she’s a really nice person and totally in love with Mike and his parents are thrilled and hoping for lots of grandchildren.’

Ryan was still frowning. ‘If you don’t know Emily and you don’t know Mike, why have you been invited to their wedding?’

‘As Susie’s partner, kind of. We haven’t seen each other since Christmas.’

‘That’s not so long ago.’

Hannah shrugged. ‘It seems a long time. We’re close, I guess.’

‘Hmm.’

Ryan’s thoughts may as well have been in a bubble over his head. As best man, he would have to partner Hannah’s clone. Another woman who wouldn’t be on the same page. Someone else who would think he was shallow and lazy and a liability.

Hannah opened her mouth to offer some reassurance. To finally apologise for losing it on Monday night in such an unprofessional manner. To suggest that they would both be able to have a good time at the wedding despite having each other’s company enforced.

She didn’t get the chance.

Her mouth opened far more widely than needed for speech as the plane hit an air pocket and seemed to drop like a rock. The fall continued long enough for someone further down the plane in economy to scream, and then they got to the bottom with a crunch and all hell broke loose.

The big jet slewed sideways into severe turbulence. The pitch of its engine roar increased. The water glass and cutlery on Hannah’s tray slithered sideways to clatter to the floor. The seat-belt sign on the overhead panel flashed on and off repeatedly with a loud dinging noise. Oxygen masks were deployed and swung like bizarre, short pendulums. Children were shrieking and someone was calling for help. The stewardess who had been pushing the meal trolley staggered through the curtain dividing business class from the rest of the cabin, her face covered in blood. She fell into the seat beside Hannah.

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