The silence went on and on

And in that silence something built. Something intangible. Something neither of them recognized, but it was there for all that.

“It’s a sensible job you have up north, isn’t it?” he asked at last, and she nodded.

“Yes.”

“And do you have a sensible boyfriend?”

She flushed at that. “I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Is that who you’re running from?”

“I’m not running.”

“I can pick up running from a mile off.”

“You were running,” she said softly. “When I first met you.”

“Well, you stopped that.” There was a moment’s pause, and then he added, “Maybe I can stop you running.”

Dear Reader,

I live inland from Australia’s Great Ocean Road, one of the wildest, most scenic roads in the world. Last summer, we rounded a blind bend—wild ocean on one side, vertical cliff face on the other—and nearly collided with one crazy jogger. And his dog. What were they doing jogging in such a remote place, we wondered? (After we recovered from our fright.) As a romance writer I immediately gave them a story.

Written in holiday mode, In Dr. Darling’s Care turned out to be pure enjoyment. Two gorgeous doctors, two spare fiancés, far too many bridesmaids, puppies, kids and drama…everything you need, in fact, to create a fine romance.

I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Marion Lennox

In Dr. Darling’s Care
Marion Lennox

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

Memo:

Tell Emily: Doctors are not trained to tie pew ribbons.

Tell Emily: Doctors should not even need to admire pew ribbons. It’s not written in the wedding contract. Is it?

Remember to admire the bridesmaids. Don’t tell anyone I detest pink chiffon.

Do not slug Mrs Smythe when she asks me yet again when we can expect the patter of tiny feet.

Run. Run until I forget how many people are intending to watch me get married tomorrow…

SHE’D hit him.

Dear God, she’d hit him. Dr Lizzie Darling pushed Phoebe aside and shoved open the car door, her heart sprawled somewhere around her boots.

Where was he? There. Oh, no…

The man was face down in the mud right beside her car. Lizzie hadn’t been going fast—this was a blind bend on an unmade road and it was raining. She’d crawled around the bend, but Phoebe had snapped her dog-belt at just the wrong time. The vast basset hound had launched herself joyously at her new mistress and Lizzie had been momentarily distracted. Or maybe distracted was too mild a description for the sensation of a basset tongue slurping straight down your forehead.

Whatever.

What had she done?

He must have been jogging, but what was someone doing jogging in this wilderness? He was in his late twenties or early thirties, Lizzie guessed. She’d reached him now. The sick dread in her heart was almost overwhelming. What damage had she caused?

Stay calm, she told herself. Look. Think. Triage. Sort priorities. And the first priority had to be to get herself calm enough to be professional.

Was he an athlete? With this build he surely could be. He was wearing shorts. His too-small T-shirt revealed every muscle. On his feet were running shoes, and he wore nothing else. Lying in the mud, he looked like some discarded Rodin sculpture. A wounded Rodin sculpture.

But…not dead? Please?

How hard had she hit him? She’d practically crawled around the blind bend. He must have run into her as much as she’d run into him.

She knelt in the mud beside him and put a hand to the side of his neck. Beneath her fingers his pulse beat strongly. That was good. There wasn’t any blood. That was good, too.

But he wasn’t moving. Why?

Her momentary calm was receding as panic built in waves. Lizzie might be a qualified medical practitioner but she was accustomed to her emergencies coming through the front entrance of her nicely equipped emergency department—not lying in the mud at her feet. She looked wildly around her, taking in her surroundings. She truly was in the middle of nowhere.

Birrini was a tiny fishing town on the south coast of Australia. The road through the forest into this town was one of the wildest in Australia. Scenic, they called it, but no tourists ever came here at this time of the year. Especially now, when the road surface had been ripped up for roadworks. Local traffic only, the sign had said, and for good reason. The road was a series of hairpin loops along a jagged coastline. On one side was a sheer cliff face; the other side dropped straight to the sea.

And what a sea! From here the ocean fifty feet down was a churning maelstrom of foam, with jagged shards of rock reaching up like suppliant fingers in the foam.

Suppliant fingers…hands raised in prayer. The analogy was a good one, she thought bitterly. Help was what she needed.

Action was what she needed. Here she was staring out to sea when she should be figuring out what to do with this guy.

She was figuring out how alone she was.

At least his breathing was fine. Her fingers had been moving over his face even as she looked about her, searching for what was most important. The stranger was face down but as her hand came over his mouth she felt the soft whisper of breathing. Thank God. She adjusted the position of his head a tiny bit—not enough to hurt if his neck was broken but a tiny sideways shift so his mouth and nose were clear of the mud.

So why wasn’t he moving?

‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered, but there was no answer.

Had he hit his head? He must have. Her fingers kept searching and found what they were seeking—an ugly haematoma on the side of his forehead. There was a little blood. Not much.

Maybe this was momentary. Maybe she’d just stunned him.

What else? She sat back, her trained eyes running over his body. What…?

His left leg.

She winced. It was all wrong. Just below the knee it twisted and was lying at a grotesque angle. She moved so that she was kneeling by it and winced again.

He’d snapped the bones beneath the knee. The tibia and the fibula must both be broken. She stared at it—at the position it was lying in. The position meant that there was a huge risk it’d be cutting off blood circulation. In fact…With fingers that felt numbed—horror had made her whole body seem numb—she edged off one of the guy’s shoes and stared down. There was no mistaking the blue-white tinge to his toes.

No blood. She winced again, her mind racing. She was a good five miles out of Birrini. The way those toes had lost colour… Maybe he’d torn an artery.

No. Probably not. There didn’t seem enough swelling to indicate that level of internal bleeding. But the blood vessels must be kinked, and the speed at which his foot had lost colour told her that he’d lose his leg before she could get help.

He needed X-rays, she told herself frantically. He needed careful manipulation under anaesthetic.

He had Lizzie and nothing and nowhere.

But at least she knew what had to be done, and as for anaesthetic…well, he was stunned now. He was temporarily—hopefully temporarily—out of it. What she needed to do would have him screaming in agony if he was conscious. She had morphine in the car but even so… It’d be far better to do this while he was unconscious and worry about pain relief if—when—he came around. So… ‘Move, Lizzie,’ she told herself. Any minute now he could gain consciousness and she’d have lost her chance.

But if only she had X-rays. She gave one last despairing glance at the road ahead. Nothing. She looked up at the cliff and then down to the sea below. There was nothing there to help her either.

She took a deep breath, then moved so that she was kneeling beside the leg. Another breath. She stared down, figuring out which way she should move. She might well do more damage with this manoeuvre—without X-rays she was flying blind. But the choice was to do nothing and watch his leg die, or try to move it into position. No choice at all.

She took hold of his left ankle in one hand and his knee in the other. It was harder than she’d thought. She was applying manual traction, easing the leg lengthwise and to the side. Trying—slowly and gently but still with strength—to move it.

It wouldn’t go.

She wasn’t brave enough. She had to be. More traction. She pulled and it moved. Just.

More traction. Twist…

And she heard it. Crepitus. The grating sound that fractured bones made as they moved against each other. Crepitus was an awful name for an awful sound but now she almost welcomed it.

Had she done it?

Maybe.

Her fingers were on his leg and she felt—she was sure she felt—the pulse return. She stared down, willing the colour to change. And in moments she was sure she wasn’t imagining it. There was a definite improvement in the skin tone of the toes.

The man stirred and groaned. Little wonder. If someone had done to her what she’d just done to him, she’d have screamed so hard she’d have been heard back in Melbourne.

‘Don’t try and move,’ she said urgently, her voice unsteady—but he didn’t respond.

‘Can you hear me?’

Nothing.

OK. What next? She’d saved him from a dead leg. Well done, Lizzie. Now she just had to save him from cerebral haemorrhage, or internal bleeding, or by being run over by another car as he lay in the road.

Her thoughts were cut off by another moan. The guy stirred and moaned some more and then shifted. He was finally coming round.

‘You mustn’t move,’ she said again, and he appeared to think about it.

‘Why not?’ His voice was a faint slur but it sounded good to her. Not only was he gaining consciousness, he was gaining sense.

‘You’ve been hit by a car.’ She moved again so that she could see his face, stooping so her nose was parallel to his. ‘You’ve broken your leg.’

He thought about that for a while longer. She’d laid her face in the mud beside his so that he could see her and she could see one of his eyes. She knew that he’d desperately need human contact and reassurance but she daren’t move him further.

It was a crazy position to be in, but panic could make him move. He mustn’t panic. So she lay in the mud so that he could focus.

He did. ‘Whose car?’ he managed, and she winced.

‘My car.’

That was another cause for some long, hard thinking.

‘My leg hurts,’ he conceded at last. ‘What else?’

‘You tell me,’ she said cautiously. ‘Where else hurts?’

‘My head.’

‘I think you hit your head on the road.’

‘How fast were you going?’

‘Not fast at all,’ she told him, a tiny bit of indignation entering her voice. He was making sense. No brain damage, then. ‘You ran straight into me.’

‘Yeah, like you were stopped and I just smashed into your car. You’ll be suing me next.’ Amazingly there was a hint of laughter in the man’s voice. Laughter laced with pain.

But Lizzie wasn’t up to laughter. Not yet. No brain damage, she was thinking. He had enough strength left to give her cheek. She found she was breathing again but she hadn’t remembered stopping.

‘I might sue you,’ she said cautiously, still nose to nose with him in the mud. ‘But not yet. I think we should consider scraping you off the road before we consult our lawyers.’ She placed her hand on his head in a gesture of warmth and comfort. Strong as this man sounded, he was badly hurt and shock must be taking its toll. His hair was nice, she thought inconsequentially. Thick and wavy and deep, deep black. What she could see of his face was strong-boned and tanned. Her initial impression was really, really nice.

Which was a silly thing to think, given the circumstances. ‘I’ll get you something for the pain and ring for an ambulance,’ she told him, and decided that shock was affecting her too. Her voice was decidedly wobbly. She couldn’t make it sound efficient and clinical. Efficient and clinical was the last thing she felt like.

And his next words made her feel even less efficient. ‘There’s no phone reception out here,’ the man muttered.

‘No reception?’

‘No.’

‘But…’ Leaving her hand resting on his head—he’d need touch, she knew—she rose and sat back on her heels and stared blankly down at him. ‘But…why not?’

‘Because we’re in the middle of nowhere.’ Stupid, he might have added, but he didn’t. ‘Why do you think I run out here?’

‘Because you’re stupid?’ Lizzie whispered, trying to disguise her overwhelming sensation of sick dismay. No reception. Help!

‘A man has to have peace some time.’

‘Yeah, well, it should be really peaceful in hospital,’ she snapped. This was a crazy conversation. He was lying face down in the road; she didn’t even know what was wrong with him yet, and he was giving her cheek?

‘Who said anything about hospital?’

‘I did.’ Her voice was starting to sound a bit desperate. She was feeling more out of control by the minute. ‘That’s where you’re going.’ She took a deep breath, searching for control. ‘Now shut up while I examine you. And stay still!’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Silence. More silence. Lizzie started running her fingers over his body, searching for any lumps or bumps or obvious contusions. She could still only see his back but she was reluctant to roll him over. For a start that leg would hurt like hell. Second, if he’d hurt his back or his neck…

‘I can wiggle my fingers and my left toes,’ he told her. ‘I’m not game to try my right toes.’

‘I don’t blame you. You’ve got a horrible break. I just had to straighten it to get circulation back.’

‘Circulation…’ He stirred and she placed a warning hand on his shoulder. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Lizzie Darling.’ Her hands kept moving. One good thing about the scanty clothes he was wearing, her examination wasn’t impeded. She put her hands under him and felt his ribs. His chest was broad and muscled and the ribs didn’t seem damaged at all.

‘Lizzie Darling.’ He sounded bemused. ‘Darling. As in not Lizzie Sweetheart but Lizzie Darling, daughter of Mr and Mrs Darling? Or wife of Mr Darling?’

She could afford to be magnanimous about her stupid name. Almost. If she hadn’t been so fond of her mum and dad and her grandma she would have changed it years ago. But by deed poll. Not by marriage. ‘Daughter will do,’ she told him. ‘That’s the one.’

‘You’re the new locum, then?’ he demanded, his voice incredulous, and she sat back and surveyed him some more. And worried some more. She had more to concentrate on now than her entirely inappropriate name.

‘I’ll find something to splint that leg and then we’ll try and roll you over.’

‘But you are the doctor we’re expecting?’

‘I am.’ She was searching the roadside. A branch had fallen from the cliff-top and it had crashed down, splintering into what she needed—a mass of wood of various lengths and thickness. Something here would do. She needed to roll him to check for further injuries but she wanted that leg immobile first.

At least the man was sensible. His voice was strong enough. With no blood, ease of breathing and fully conscious…she hadn’t killed him and it didn’t look like she was going to.

Locum. He’d said locum. He’d recognised her name?

‘You knew I was coming?’ She left him for a moment to think about it while she fetched her doctor’s bag from the back of the car. Returning to kneel beside him, she located a syringe from the bag and fitted it with a morphine vial. By the time she had the needle ready, he had his answer ready. He might be conscious but he was still dazed.

‘Yeah, I knew you were coming. Of course I did.’

‘I’m just giving you something for the pain.’

‘Morphine?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Five milligrams.’

‘I thought ten,’ she told him. ‘I need to move you and it’s going to hurt.’

‘Five.’

‘Hey, who’s the doctor here?’

‘I am,’ he told her, and she paused, her syringe held to the light, and stared at the head in the mud.

‘You?’

‘Me,’ he told her, his face still obscured. ‘That’s who you just ran over. Your boss. I’m Harry McKay, Birrini’s doctor. You’re here to replace me while I go on my honeymoon.’

Silence. She managed to finish checking the syringe but she was operating on automatic pilot. She couldn’t focus on what he was saying and what was needed at the same time.

Medicine. Concentrate on medicine or she’d do something really stupid.

Seven and a half milligrams of morphine, she decided. When in doubt, compromise.

She swabbed his arm while he lay absolutely still. That fracture must be causing agony, she thought. He’d turned his head slightly and she could see the set look on his jaw.

Forget compromise. Forget he was a doctor. He was very definitely a patient. Ten milligrams of morphine whether he liked it or not.

She gave the dose subcutaneously, then moved down so she could work on his leg. She’d prepare the splint while she waited for the morphine to take hold.

‘Five minutes tops before you get relief,’ she told him.

‘I know how long morphine takes to work.’

‘I guess you do.’ Her mind was racing. ‘So…you’re really the doctor I’m coming to replace?’

‘I am.’

‘You’re getting married?’

‘Yep.’

‘Right.’ She frowned. She shouldn’t be talking to him like this. She should still be assessing him for shock. But it seemed he wanted to talk. To lie in the mud and think about what damage had been done… He’d be scared, she knew, but there was little reassurance she could give him until she could move him.

‘There’s no pain when you breathe?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘So no broken ribs?’

‘Apparently not.’

She ran her hands down his spine again—lightly. She wanted as much information as she could before the morphine took hold. ‘You can feel that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No loss of sensation?’

‘No.’

‘No pain in your back at all?’

‘No. Only in my leg. And my head.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Yeah. Fantastic.’

‘Sorry.’ She managed a smile. She moved up and placed her hand over his, feeding him warmth she thought he’d be desperate for. She was wearing a light jacket but it was already soaked and it held no warmth at all. She needed a blanket. She always carried a blanket in her own car, but this was a hire car. She was lucky she had a medical bag. The bag had been provided by the locum service when she’d agreed to take on this job, but there was no blanket and he must be freezing.

‘I’m as strong as a horse. I’ll live,’ he said curtly, and she blinked.

‘That’s my job,’ she said mildly. ‘To decide that.’ But she smiled again and the tension eased off a bit. Despite his attempt at humour, he was gripping her hand as if he needed it.

‘This is stupid. My face is in the mud. I’m going to try and sit up.’

‘If you try and move before I splint your leg, your brain will be in orbit,’ she told him. She relented a little. ‘It mightn’t be that bad, but your circulation was cut off. I don’t want to risk the bones moving again.’

‘Compound fracture?’

‘Comminuted. The bones are right out of alignment but they haven’t broken the skin.’

‘That’s lucky.’ He tried to smile.

‘Yeah.’ He had courage. She’d have rolled herself off the edge of the cliff by now, she decided. The pain level in that leg would be dreadful.

And all she could do for the moment was wait. She sat on the road, holding his hand, forcing herself to stay still. To stay calm. The morphine would kick in soon and then she could work, but it wouldn’t hurt to wait.

Phoebe was in the passenger seat of her car, staring out with the desperation of a basset who’d been abandoned by the world. Too bad. Phoebe had caused this mess. It wouldn’t hurt her to wait either.

Her car was parked in the middle of the road, though. Maybe that was a problem.

‘No one’s likely to come.’ Harry was obviously thinking as she was thinking. ‘Not this way. Council’s doing road work and the road’s blocked at either end. That’s why I’m running here. I knew the road would be deserted.’ He thought about it a bit more and decided it didn’t make sense. ‘But it wasn’t deserted. How did you get through? The only way through is via the hills—not along the coast road.’

‘The coast road was open when I came last night.’

‘You came last night?’

‘I booked a holiday cottage half a mile south of here.’

‘You’re supposed to be staying at the hospital.’

This was one crazy conversation. He was trying to take his mind off the pain until the morphine kicked in, she decided. OK. The least she could do was help.

‘I can’t stay at the hospital. I have a dog. What do you think caused this accident?’

‘You have a dog?’

‘How’s the pain level?’

‘Horrible. Tell me about your dog.’

‘Phoebe’s stupid.’ She touched his hand again, gave it a quick squeeze and then released it, aware as she did of a sharp stab of reluctance to let it go. This comfort business wasn’t all one way, she thought ruefully. She’d had a sickening shock. She needed his presence as much as he needed hers. ‘The morphine should have taken by now.’

‘Not enough.’

She glanced at her watch and winced. It wasn’t going to get any better than this. ‘I need to splint your leg. How are you at biting bullets?’

‘Do you have a supply of bullets?’

‘Maybe not,’ she conceded. ‘I have a Mars Bar.’

‘I’d throw up.’

‘You’re feeling nauseous?’

‘Horribly.’

‘Don’t throw up until we get your face out of the mud,’ she advised, but she had to move. She lifted her branch and laid it along the back of his leg. It was awful. Rolled up newspapers, the emergency manuals said. They were generally antiseptic and rigid enough to hold. So where were rolled-up newspapers when she needed them?

She was wearing a light jacket—cotton. Formal business. Not enough to give any warmth. But as padding for the splint, at least it’d stop him getting slivers of wood in his leg.

She hauled off her jacket and twisted it round the wood. She laid the makeshift splint along his leg and then carefully started winding bandage along its length. It was impossible to operate in these conditions without shifting his leg slightly and she was aware by the rigidity in his body how much she was hurting him.

‘What sort of dog?’ he muttered and she grimaced. There was real pain in his voice. Maybe ten milligrams of morphine wasn’t enough.

‘Basset.’

‘Why do you have a stupid basset?’

‘I inherited her.’ He was using Phoebe to focus on something that wasn’t pain and she could do the same. ‘My grandma died three weeks ago. She left me Phoebe. I live in North Queensland. Phoebe’s the human equivalent of eight months pregnant. I can’t take her home until she’s delivered the pups. It’s hot up north and the heat would kill her, if she survived the journey. No kennel will take her this far into her pregnancy, and no airline will carry her, so I’m stuck here until the pups are born.’

Harry thought about that and bit on his imaginary bullet some more. ‘That’s why you applied to be my locum?’

‘That’s right.’

Now what? She had the splint in place now. The leg was fixed as rigidly as she could manage. The morphine would be working as well as it could.

It was time to move.

‘You’re sure no one’s likely to come along this road?’ she asked, and he grunted into the mud.

‘Nope. We’re on our own. It’s time to turn me over and check my face hasn’t fallen off.’

‘Does it feel as if it has?’

‘Nope, but this mud pack has done me all the good that it’s going to do me. Let’s go.’

Lizzie was very worried. If she had an ambulance here she’d have him moved immobile onto a fixed stretcher until she’d thoroughly checked that neck and spine. She couldn’t leave him lying in the mud on the side of the road, though. For a start, if he lost consciousness again he could even drown. It was still raining, a steady drizzle that was making her cold to the bone. They’d both have hypothermia if she didn’t move.

So, feeling as anxious as she’d ever felt in her entire medical career, she moved to his shoulders and put her face down in the mud again, nose to nose.

‘I’m going to roll you over now,’ she told him. ‘Don’t try to help me.’

‘If I don’t try to help you then you’ll never do it,’ he muttered. ‘How tall are you?’

‘I’m tall.’

‘You don’t sound tall.’

‘I have a short voice.’

‘I can see you sideways. You look really short.’

‘From where you are I must look eight feet or so.’ She put her hands under his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry but your leg’s going to hurt when I do this. But I want to roll you keeping your back and neck as rigid as possible.’

He forgot about the short bit. She could see him brace.

‘OK. Let’s give it a shot.’

In the end he rolled with ease. There couldn’t be major damage, she decided with relief. He could use his still strong hips to roll himself as she supported his shoulders and neck.

‘Slow,’ she said urgently. ‘Keep it slow.’

A minute later he was lying on his back, practising deep breathing as his leg settled. She took three deep breaths herself and met his gaze. Done. He was still breathing and breathing well. His hands were still moving. There clearly wasn’t an unstable break in the vertebrae.

He was staring up at her with the bluest eyes…

They really were the most extraordinary eyes, she thought, stunned. Or maybe it was just the situation and the relief of having him look up at her with eyes that were lucid.

No. It wasn’t just that. They really were the most extraordinary eyes. His face was mud-stained and etched with strain, the bruise on the side of his forehead was raw and ugly, but she could see laughter lines around his eyes. A wide generous mouth looked as if it was meant for smiling.

He was trying to smile now.

‘S-see,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ After a short pause he added, ‘Maybe you could give me that extra five milligrams of morphine.’

‘You’ve already had it.’ She was checking his chest now, his shoulders, everything she could see of him. ‘I’m sorry but that’s all I can give you.’

‘Damned managing woman.’

‘That’s what I’m famous for. Is it only your leg that hurts?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘I guess it is.’

‘Tell me again why I employed you?’

‘So you can get married.’ She looked uneasily at the car. She was going to have to get him in there. Somehow.

‘You can’t lift me.’

‘No.’

‘But you can’t leave me sprawled in the road for some other dingbat city doctor to run down.’

‘How many dingbat city doctors do you have around here?’

‘Ha,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘You admit it. Dingbat city doctor. That’s an admission of guilt if ever I heard one. Where are witnesses when you need them?’

‘There’s always Phoebe.’

‘Phoebe?’

‘My basset.’

‘Right. Your mother-to-be.’

‘You know, if you just shut up for a minute I might be able to think of a plan.’

‘Yeah?’

He was mocking her. ‘Yeah,’ she said, temporarily distracted. ‘I might.’

‘It’s a hard call. You help me haul myself into your car or…or what?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

‘Fine. Let’s get me into the car first.’

‘And if you’ve broken your back?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘It’s my back. I’d know.’

‘Like you’ve got an X-ray machine.’ Her panic must have shown through, because suddenly the roles changed. He reached out and grasped her hand.

‘Lizzie, I don’t have a broken back,’ he told her in a voice that was suddenly stronger than hers was. ‘You’ve splinted my leg. I have nerve endings tingling all over the place, which tells me I’m fine. But bruised. I’m feeling sleepy already, which will be the morphine taking effect. If you wait any longer the morphine is going to put me to sleep and there’s no way a runt of a little thing like you can drag me unconscious into the car.’

‘I’m not a runt of a thing.’ She was running her spare hand along the side of his neck, checking, checking…

But he was staring up into her face, and he was still gripping her hand, and she was suddenly absurdly aware of how close they were. Which was ridiculous. She was a doctor. He was a patient.

‘Lizzie…’ His voice was starting to slur a little and his other hand came up and grasped her fingers. Which made her even more aware of his closeness. His maleness.

His…need?

‘You can’t do any more for me here in the mud,’ he said softly. ‘This is going to hurt me more than it is you.’

‘I know. That’s why—’

‘Let’s just do it and talk about it later.’

It was a nightmare. Her car was way too small. She reversed it so her rear car door was right beside him but every movement must have sent shards of pain shooting down his injured leg.

She saw his agony but there was nothing she could do about it. Somehow they managed to haul him up into a sitting position on the end of the back seat. Then she supported the leg as best she could while he dragged himself backwards right in. By the time he was safely in, his face was so drained of colour she was afraid he’d pass out.

‘Just don’t let the dog near me,’ he muttered as she hauled the seat belt around him. Phoebe was in the front passenger seat, her great nose drooping over the back support as if she was incredibly concerned with all that was going on. And shocked. And sad.

That just about summed Phoebe up, Lizzie thought bitterly. Concerned, shocked and sad. That’s what her eyes said, but in reality what was going on was a deep internal pondering as to when dinner could be expected to appear. As this deep pondering started approximately two seconds after she’d finished last night’s dinner, it didn’t leave much brain room for anything else.

‘Phoebe won’t jump on you,’ Lizzie told him. ‘She doesn’t do jumping. I don’t think she knows what it is. Are you OK?’

‘No. I have a broken leg. Can I have some more morphine?’

‘You know very well you can’t.’ She cast him a really worried glance. ‘It must really hurt.’

‘You’re not supposed to say that,’ he said faintly, and there was that amazing trace of laughter in those amazing eyes. ‘It should be, “Come on, lad, pull yourself together. You’ll be right by morning. Take an aspirin and have a nice lie-down and give me a call…” Are you sure I can’t have any more morphine?’

‘I’ll get you to hospital and get you settled first.’

‘So if I go into cardiac arrest you can resuscitate me.’

‘That’s the ticket.’

‘Maybe I could just cardiac arrest for the next few minutes so I could pass out on the way.’

‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’ The seat belt clicked into place, but she was still leaning across him, staring worriedly into his face. ‘I’ll drive really, really carefully.’ She took a deep breath and straightened away from him. ‘Besides, you can’t go into cardiac arrest. Don’t you have a wedding to go to?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Emily will have kittens.’

‘Emily being your fiancée?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Well, she can have kittens and Phoebe will have puppies and they’ll all live happily ever after. Meanwhile…I’m sorry, Dr McKay, but there’s no easy way to do this. Let’s get you to hospital.’

CHAPTER TWO

Memo:

I will not scream.

I will not panic.

I will not tell this crazy woman and her crazy dog to get out of my town this minute.

I will remember that I might just need them…

BY THE time they reached the tiny township hospital Harry was grey. His face was etched with pain and he was holding himself rigid. Lizzie steered her car into the entrance of the tiny emergency department, switched off the engine and put her hand on the hooter.

‘Don’t do that,’ he told her. ‘They’ll think I’m an emergency.’

‘You are an emergency.’

‘I’m fine.’

Ha! She was past arguing. ‘You might be fine, but I’m not,’ she told him. ‘I’m wrecked. Is the duty doctor here now or will he or she have to be called in?’

‘Duty doctor?’

‘Duty doctor.’ She was suffering from reaction here. Why didn’t a whole medical team burst from the doors, ready to take over?

‘There’s no duty doctor. There’s only me, and I’m decidedly off duty.’ Harry’s voice was strained to breaking point and Lizzie stared at him in horror.

‘What?’

‘You heard.’

‘You mean…’ She caught her breath, appalled. ‘You mean this is a one-horse town?’

‘A one-doctor town. Yes. That’s why I need a locum.’

‘They didn’t tell me it was a one-doctor town.’ The doors were finally opening now, and a uniformed nurse was hurrying toward them. The nurse was eye-catchingly lovely, in her early thirties maybe, trim, and elegant and…well, just plain beautiful. Her long black hair was braided into a severe rope hanging over her shoulder almost to her waist. Her hair would be gorgeous unbraided, Lizzie thought inconsequentially. More gorgeous. The woman herself would be even more gorgeous if she didn’t look so worried.

She wasn’t the only one worrying. Lizzie was distracted enough not to be worrying about someone else’s worry. She should be worried about the man on the back seat—she was—but she was also appalled at the thought of not having help.

‘The people at the locum agency told me one of the doctors was getting married and needed a fill-in,’ she said slowly, thinking it through. ‘One of the doctors. Implying several.’

Harry closed his eyes, an unmistakable wash of pain sweeping through. ‘If they said one of the doctors then they lied.’

‘But… I would never have come if…’ Her voice rose in panic. ‘I don’t do this. Not alone. I can’t.’

‘Welcome to Birrini, Dr Darling,’ Harry muttered, his face grim. ‘I think you’ll find you can. It’s amazing what you can do when you have no choice.’ Then, as the nurse reached the car and pulled open the back door, he managed a strained smile. ‘Hello, Emily. This is Dr Darling. Our locum. She’s here to replace me. It was to be while you and I got married, but maybe now it’s while she mends my broken leg.’

She couldn’t worry about her lone status now. Like Harry said, she had no choice.

Once in the relative security of the hospital she turned on her autopilot. Never mind that she was soaked to the skin. Harry needed her more than she needed to take care of herself.

Medicine first, she told herself, and tried to stop the tremors sweeping through her body. Her spare clothes were back at the holiday cottage. She’d worn a smart little business suit into town to meet the medical community. The smart little business suit was now a bedraggled mess, with the jacket wrapped around Harry’s splint. Lizzie’s mass of bright blonde curls had been hauled into a neat businesslike knot when she’d set out that morning but that was a thing of the past, too. Her curls were now hanging in soaked tendrils around her face, mud-matted and coldly dripping.

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

At least Harry was being warmed. She could examine him now with considerably more care than her roadside check, and she did so as she and Emily stripped him and dried him and gently manoeuvred him into a hospital gown.

‘I’m not wearing a hospital gown,’ he muttered.

‘Harry, stop being silly.’ Emily’s voice was laced with tears and Lizzie gave her a sharp glance. There wasn’t a lot of professional detachment here—though maybe she was being unfair.

If someone brought my fiancé into town, squashed, maybe I’d be a bit tearful too, she told herself.

Maybe. She thought about Edward for a fraction of a second and grimaced. Come to think about it, there was a lot to be said for squashed fiancés.

‘My pyjamas are just through in my quarters,’ Harry was murmuring sleepily, and she forgot thinking about Edward and dredged up a smile.

‘I can’t get at you as easily in your pyjamas.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

Amazingly he was laughing. He was drifting in and out of sleep, on the edge of pain, but he could still smile. She wished he’d go completely to sleep. Indignity was the last thing he should be thinking of.

He did fade back into sleep as she and Emily prepared him for X-ray. She was grateful. Once again she had to move the leg slightly, straightening it a little more while she had the chance. The last thing she needed now was for that blood vessel to kink and block again.

The woman, Emily, worked by her side, but she worked in silence, her mouth a tight, grim line. Her tears had receded, but she still looked sick.

‘He’ll be OK,’ Lizzie said gently, and Emily gave her a fierce, angry glance.

‘You don’t understand.’

No. She didn’t. She couldn’t understand anything but what was before her. She should probe, but she was too shocked and cold and numb herself to take it further.

Finally, with the analgesia working well, she took the X-rays she wanted. By this stage Harry’s head wound was worrying her more than the leg. He’d lost consciousness back on the road. He was sleeping now. If he was bleeding internally…

‘My headache’s eased,’ he muttered as she took the last film, and her eyes flew wide. She’d thought that he was asleep, and here he was reading her thoughts.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I don’t have a cracked skull.’

‘I’m checking anyway, if you don’t mind,’ she told him, and he nodded and seemed to drift off again.

Good. The man made her nervous just by…just by being. And so did this silent nurse, hovering over her like a terrified parent.

Wasn’t there anyone else in this hospital?

She couldn’t mind. She just had to ignore them both and do what she thought right. Though she’d quite like someone to notice, a, that she was filthy and (more urgently), b, that she was freezing.

No one did, so neither did she. Or rather, she did notice. She just didn’t turn into an ice cube and melt right there on the floor of the X-ray department. She didn’t have time.

Finally someone noticed. Harry.

After his initial protest Harry had seemed content to leave everything in her hands, and Emily was still working on autopilot. But with the X-rays finished, Lizzie grasped the head of the trolley to push him back through to the ward and his hands reached out and grasped hers. He’d woken properly this time, and his hands had a strength she hadn’t believed possible.

‘You’re still dripping.’ He stared up at her in concern, his face right under hers. ‘Lizzie, it’s time you were warm and dry,’ he managed, his words only slightly slurred. ‘Emily, look after her.’

‘We’ll look after you first,’ Emily told him. The woman seemed almost more shocked than Harry.

‘Can I help?’

And here was the cavalry, in the form of a freckle-faced senior nurse standing in the doorway. She stared from Emily to Harry and then to Lizzie, and her eyes were wide with shock. ‘Joe said there’d been an accident. Dr McKay!’

‘Dr McKay’s broken his leg,’ Emily snapped, and the woman’s eyes widened even further.

‘Right. Goodness. I’ve just come on duty. What needs doing?’

‘Emily will take me through to the ward,’ Harry said strongly. ‘May, can you look after Lizzie? Dr Darling.’

‘Dr Darling?’

‘That’s me,’ Lizzie said wearily. ‘Lizzie Darling. The locum.’ Locum? Even the word sounded wrong. She didn’t feel like a locum. She was tired of being doctor in charge. If she didn’t drop her bundle soon she’d fall straight over.

And the woman had the sense to see it. She focused and her eyes narrowed in concern.

‘You’re the basset hound’s mum?’

‘I’m the basset hound’s mum.’

‘This gets better and better.’ The woman smiled a greeting and held out her hand. ‘And our new doctor?’

‘Mmm.’ She was starting to shake uncontrollably and May felt it through their linked hands. She looked uncertainly at Emily. ‘Dr Darling’s making a puddle on our nice clean floor,’ she told her. ‘Can I take her away and dry her off?’

‘Do that,’ Emily told her, distracted. ‘Fine.’

‘I’ll show you where you can shower, Doctor, and if you like I’ll find you some dry clothes.’ May left no one room for a change of mind. She had Lizzie’s arm and was leading her to the door. ‘Or do you have some dry clothes in your car? Jim, our orderly, is looking after your dog. He found her in your car and took her out before she ripped the upholstery to shreds. I’ll ask Jim to fetch your luggage, shall I?’

‘My luggage is at a holiday cottage five miles south of here, but even a hospital gown’s preferable to what I’m wearing now,’ Lizzie managed, thankful all the same for the tiny realisation that she wasn’t completely alone. Someone cared. But she wasn’t ready to drop her bundle yet. Not completely. ‘I’ll check these X-rays first.’

‘The X-rays will be fine,’ Harry muttered from the trolley, and Lizzie nodded.

‘Oh, right. Of course they will be. No break at all. And here I was imagining the bend in your leg.’

‘Just stick a cast on it.’

He had no idea. Had he heard what she’d told him about fractures and circulation? About how close he’d been to losing the leg?

‘You’re going to look really odd tomorrow wearing a cast,’ Emily whispered to him. She was practically wringing her hands and had been no help at all while the X-rays had been taken. It was all very well being shocked, Lizzie thought, but maybe she could be shocked later when she was no longer needed.

Lizzie intended being shocked later. Maybe now?

What had Emily said? You’re going to look really odd tomorrow wearing a cast.

She was talking about their wedding as if it was still going to happen, Lizzie thought incredulously. But now wasn’t the time to enlighten her. It wasn’t the time to talk about weddings. Harry desperately needed to sleep, to let the painkillers take over. She needed to check his X-rays and then get her own head in order.

It wasn’t the place for anything but making sure this man didn’t have a cerebral bleed—and making herself stop this awful shivering.

‘Can you take Dr McKay through to a ward and settle him?’ she asked wearily. ‘Harry, you need to sleep. I’ll talk you through the results of the X-rays when you wake.’

But he was looking at her and there was real concern showing through the pain and weariness etched onto his face. ‘Only if you promise to look after yourself,’ he told her.

‘I will.’ She touched his hand, staring down at him and suddenly fighting a stupid urge to weep. ‘Of course I will. Looking after me is what I’m principally good at. Now sleep.’

His head was fine. Lizzie checked the X-rays from every angle and could see no damage at all. It must have been a fair bang to make him lose consciousness but there was little to show for it now. She’d watch him carefully for signs of internal bleeding, but every sign was that he’d been lucky.

Not so the leg. Lizzie held the X-ray up to the screen and May whistled.

May had introduced herself with cheer. ‘I’m May. I’m general dogsbody round here. Basic nurse training twenty years ago. All care and no responsibility. Emily’s our nurse administrator but I guess with Emily in a flap I’m it.’

She was a welcome it. The freckle-faced forty-something woman exuded a warmth that Lizzie was in sore need of. Now she’d checked Harry’s head she could concentrate on that hot shower and dry clothes.

‘He’s not going to be walking down any aisle tomorrow, is he?’ May asked shrewdly, and Lizzie shook her head.

‘No.’ She looked again at the X-rays. She’d been very lucky to get the leg back into a position where the blood vessels weren’t blocked. Very lucky.

‘It’ll need pinning?’

‘It’s a corkscrew break right through, with breaks in both tibia and fibula. He can do six weeks in traction and possibly end up with a really bad result or he can get it pinned. Plus, there are slivers of bone that need fixing or removing.’

‘Can you pin it here?’ May asked, and Lizzie shook her head.

‘Heck, no. Pin this leg? Our Dr McKay needs an orthopaedic surgeon and an anaesthetist. Maybe I could do the anaesthetic but… How good are you at joining broken bits of bone together?’

May grinned and shook her head. ‘Carpentry’s never been my strong point.’

‘Then we ship him out to someone who can.’

The nurse turned back to the screen and screwed up her nose. ‘So the wedding’s off?’

‘Absolutely. I’d like him evacuated as soon as possible. Soon. His head looks good but he did lose consciousness for a bit. If there’s the slightest chance of him having an intracranial bleed, he needs to have it somewhere near a neurosurgeon. He can go to Melbourne, see out his danger period in a nice city hospital with all the facilities, get his leg pinned and plated and then come back here and recuperate.’

‘With you looking after him?’

Lizzie let her breath out in a long slow sigh. ‘I guess.’

This wasn’t the locum position she’d planned. Absolutely not. Once upon a time she’d been a family doctor—for two short years after she’d graduated. Now—after one awful day she hated even to think about—she was a nine-to-five doctor. She looked after the emergency department of a city hospital. She did her absolute best for everyone while she was on duty and then she walked away.

She closed shop.

And here, a tiny fishing village with its only doctor incapacitated… This place could suck her in, she thought fearfully. She should drive out of here right now. She could go back to the locum agency and tell them they were liars.

She’d get another job. There were always jobs for locums. But…

‘We’ll be in a mess without you,’ May told her, and she winced.

‘I’m like you,’ she muttered. ‘I’m all care, no responsibility.’

‘Unless you’re stuck,’ May said shrewdly. ‘And you are stuck. There’s no one else. If Harry’s away and you don’t stay we’ll have to close the hospital until he gets back. All those people…’

‘How many?’ Lizzie demanded, startled, and May gave an apologetic shrug.

‘Well, five. Five in acute care. But there’s a nursing home, too.’

‘That wouldn’t have to shut.’

‘No, but the hospital would.’

Lizzie tried to get her tired mind to think. This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. ‘Um… I only agreed to come last Tuesday. This wedding’s obviously been planned for months.’

‘We had another locum booked,’ May told her. ‘Only he realised how remote it was and pulled out.’

So that’s why they’d lied to her. Lizzie’s heart hardened. ‘Then I can—’

‘No, you can’t,’ May told her. ‘You’re nice.’

‘I’m not nice.’

‘Yeah, you are. I’ve seen your dog. Anyone who didn’t get a dog like that put down at first sight has to be more than nice.’

‘You mean really, really stupid,’ Lizzie said, and May grinned.

‘You said it, Dr Darling, not me. But if the cap fits…’

It was the best shower she’d ever had in her life. Lizzie stood under the hot water and let the heat and the steam soothe away the mud and the cold and the shock. Long after she was thoroughly clean she still stood there, letting the heat soothe her tired brain. Making her mind blank. Giving her time out.

Somewhere someone called Jim was looking after Phoebe. That in itself was a godsend. Ever since Grandma had died Phoebe had followed her like a shadow and Lizzie, who didn’t do family, who didn’t do connections, was finding it a weighty strain.

Phoebe was supposed to be back at the holiday cottage right now, but when Lizzie had shut the gate behind her this morning Phoebe had set up a wail that would have woken the dead. Then she’d launched herself at the wooden gate like a battering ram, over and over again, hurling her ungainly body at the wood in manic desperation to follow.

‘You’re pregnant,’ Lizzie had told her. ‘You’ll go into premature labour if you don’t stop it. I’ll be back tonight.’

But Phoebe had kept right on howling and battering. Finally Lizzie had shoved her in the car. She was staying down here because of the dratted dog. If she had to do this locum job with Phoebe sprawled over her feet while she took surgery then the patients would just have to wear it.

What had May said? Anyone who hadn’t had a dog like this put down at first sight had to be more than nice. ‘Ha.’

She wasn’t being nice. It was just… Just that she was stuck.

Phoebe had been Grandma’s dog. Grandma had loved Phoebe and she’d loved Lizzie. Grandma had been the one constant in Lizzie’s trauma-filled upbringing and the thought of losing her…

No. She wasn’t going to cry. She blinked and splashed her face with some more hot water. She wouldn’t cry. But neither could she put Phoebe down.

‘But what on earth ever possessed you to let her get pregnant?’ she wailed to her grandmother. ‘One basset hound I can cope with.’ She thought about it and changed her story. ‘No. One basset hound I can survive. But a pregnant basset hound? A hound with puppies? And they mightn’t even be bassets.’

Actually, that wasn’t such a bad thought. Maybe they’d have their father’s intelligence. Whoever the father was.

‘Maybe he’s a Border collie.

‘Yeah? Border collies are smart. You seriously think a Border collie would look twice at our Phoebe?

‘Maybe not.’

‘Um…is there someone in the shower with you?’ a voice called. ‘If there’s a party happening in there I’ll go away. I don’t want to disturb you.’

May. Whoops, Lizzie thought, and stuck her head out of the shower curtain to reply.

‘I’m talking to the plughole,’ she told her with an attempt at dignity, and May nodded.

‘It’s a good thing, too,’ May said cautiously. ‘I find they don’t talk back.’

‘This one was talking back something dreadful.’

‘Dratted plughole. I’ll call a plumber and have it fixed.’

This woman could be a friend, Lizzie thought gratefully, and the world looked brighter all of a sudden. Especially when she saw what May was holding.

‘My clothes!’

‘Jim drove out and brought your things in.’

Lizzie considered. ‘All my things?’

‘All your things. Including the dog basket.’

‘Gee, that was nice of Jim.’

‘You’re dripping on the floor.’

‘Hand me my towel,’ Lizzie said without committing herself further until she’d had a little think about what was happening here. She retired behind the shower curtain and started towelling herself. And thinking.

‘I can’t stay here.’

‘You have to stay here.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re the only doctor. You need to be on call twenty-four seven.’

She swallowed. ‘Dr McKay wasn’t in cellphone range when I ran over him. He can’t have been on duty.’

‘He was only out of range because Emily has been driving him crazy. She’s been driving everyone crazy. Honestly, if I see one more pew ribbon…’

‘This wedding’s a big deal, huh?’

‘Yep.’ May put a hand behind the curtain and proffered what was most needed. ‘Knickers.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Bra?’

‘Do you normally provide valet service?’

‘When I want to talk, I do. Are you sending our Dr McKay away?’

‘As soon as I can get to a phone and arrange it, yes.’

‘Emily will hate you forever.’

‘Hey, it’s not my fault.’

‘You ran over him.’

‘So what am I supposed to do now? Wave a magic wand so he can sail down the aisle tomorrow? The only way he can get married tomorrow is for Emily to follow him to the city and marry him at a bedside ceremony.’

‘T-shirt,’ May said helpfully. ‘Jeans?’

‘Great.’ Silence while she wiggled into her clothes. Then she pushed the curtain back and emerged.

‘Gee,’ May said. ‘You don’t scrub up too badly after all.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You want to tell them, or shall I?’

‘Tell…’

‘The happy pair. That the wedding’s off. That all those rose petals are going to wilt.’

‘Rose petals?’

‘Emily’s gathered every rose in Birrini,’ May said. ‘Wheelbarrows of the things.’

Lizzie stared at the woman in front of her, and May stared back.

‘Wheelbarrows?’

‘Wheelbarrows.’

‘Where’s Phoebe?’ she asked, moving on from this crazy image with some difficulty.

‘We’re minding her until you’ve faced Emily,’ May told her. ‘Phoebe or Emily… We’ll take Phoebe any day.’

Dressed and warm and feeling as close to normal as she was going to feel today, Lizzie made her way through to the single ward where Harry lay. As she reached the door she paused. There was the sound of a female voice, strained to breaking point.

‘It’s not as if you have to walk down the aisle alone. If you have a cast on, you can wait for me on crutches. Then when you reach me you can hold my hand. It’d be better if you didn’t use crutches afterwards—for the wedding march—but I’ll be able to support you then.’

Lizzie waited, expecting a reply. Nothing.

‘Harry, you must. I mean, there are two hundred people invited. We can’t tell them it’s off.’

Enough. Harry was so drugged he’d agree to anything right now, Lizzie thought, and the sooner she put paid to impossibilities the better. She swung the ward door wide and Emily looked up at her as if she was interrupting something personal. Harry, though, looked across the room to her in real relief.

‘Dr Darling.’

‘Hi.’ She crossed the room to stand beside Emily’s chair. He’d regained a little colour. Good. She pushed the cradle back from his leg. The inflatable splint she’d fixed to his leg was holding it rigid. There was still good colour in his toes, she saw with relief. But still…the sooner she had those bones fixed into place by a skilled orthopaedic surgeon the happier she’d be.

‘You don’t look like a doctor,’ he murmured, and she couldn’t help but agree.

Her jeans were clean at least, she thought. She tucked her still damp curls behind her ears and tried to look professional. What she needed was a white coat, but every white coat in the place had been bought for Harry. He must be six-two or six-three, she thought, as his coats practically swept the floor on her five-foot-six frame.

And if she didn’t look professional… ‘Neither do you,’ she told him, and he gave her a tired smile.

‘I’m not feeling like a doctor. I’m feeling very much like a patient. What’s the prognosis?’

She may as well tell it like it was. Now. ‘The prognosis is a journey,’ she told him. ‘To Melbourne. In thirty minutes.’

Emily had been holding Harry’s hand. Now she dropped it and turned to Lizzie, her face blanching.

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, and Lizzie winced. This wedding was obviously hugely important to Emily—of course it was—but there was no escaping what must be faced. By all of them.

‘I mean Harry needs to go to Melbourne tonight,’ she said gently, turning back to the man in the bed. ‘Harry, I’ve organised the air ambulance to come straight away. They should be here in about thirty minutes to collect you.’

‘Melbourne…’ Harry said, bemused.

‘You know I can’t fix your leg here.’

‘Why not?’

So he hadn’t fully understood what she’d told him about his leg. ‘Would you like to see the X-rays?’ she asked him, producing the films she’d carried in with her. ‘That is, if you can stand seeing them without feeling ill?’

He nodded and she held them up to the light. As X-rays went, they were fairly dramatic. This was no hairline fracture. The bones were split and splintered. Even a layman could see the extent of the damage.

There was a long moment’s silence as Harry and Emily took them on board together. Then…

‘Hell,’ Harry said.

That about summed it up, Lizzie thought. She couldn’t have put it any better. ‘As you say.’

‘I’ve thoroughly busted it.’

‘There’s a comprehensive medical diagnosis if ever I heard one.’ She gave him an appreciative smile. The man had courage. ‘It’s a complete break of both tibia and fibula. You were lucky it didn’t break the skin.’

‘More than lucky.’ He held out an imperative hand and took the films from her, staring at them intently one after the other. ‘I could have blocked the blood supply.’

‘You did. I straightened the leg on the road and was really lucky to get circulation again.’ She pointed to the film. ‘But look at these shards of bone. They’re not fixed. I’ve been lucky—you’ve been lucky—but I want that leg operated on as soon as possible.’

He whistled. He stared at the film some more and then whistled again. And then he looked up at her, obviously confused.

‘When did you straighten my leg? I can’t remember…’

‘When you were unconscious.’

‘So… I have a headache,’ he murmured, thinking it through with obvious care. ‘But I’m starting to realise that maybe I owe that bump on my head a lot.’

‘It meant I could manipulate your leg while you were unconscious, yes.’

‘I guess I should be grateful to you.’

She smiled at that. ‘Well, maybe not too grateful. I did run you down.’

‘I ran straight into you,’ he told her ruefully. ‘I thought that road would be deserted. I didn’t think anyone would be staying in those holiday units at this time of year. They’re awful and the only time they’re used is in midsummer.’

‘They were the only ones that would let me take my dog.’

He nodded. His eyes were still on the X-rays. He was having trouble focusing, Lizzie thought. The morphine would be doing that. It was a wonder he was awake at all.

‘Your leg’s hurting?’

‘Not much.’

‘You make a bad liar,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll give you a top-up before the plane leaves.’

‘But…’ Emily had been staring at the two of them as if they’d gone mad. ‘This is crazy. You’ve forgotten. Harry can’t go on any plane.’

‘He must,’ Lizzie said gently. ‘This leg needs to be fixed. It needs pins to be inserted. Harry needs a skilled orthopaedic surgeon and highly specific equipment. Until Harry has the operation, he can’t weight-bear, and the splinters of bone are a real danger to his blood supply. He knows that. Don’t you, Harry?’

Harry laid the films down on the coverlet. ‘Yes,’ he said. And sighed. ‘I do.’ He sighed again.

Something wasn’t right.

Lizzie stared down at him. He stared straight back and her initial impression intensified. Was it possible? She must be imagining it, she told herself, but for just a moment she thought she’d detected a note of real relief in his voice. And…the faintest trace of laughter?

She must have been imagining it. There was no such relief in Emily’s tone—or in her expression. The woman faced Lizzie with desperation, and her face was more shocked than Harry’s.

‘If he can’t weight-bear… That just means traction. You can do it here and he’ll just have to use a wheelchair. We can do that.’

But Lizzie was shaking her head. ‘Traction can’t guarantee Harry the same results as pinning,’ she told her. ‘You don’t want Harry to end up with one leg longer than the other.’ Then, as Emily’s face said she wasn’t so sure, Lizzie pressed on.

‘Emily, look again at that film,’ she said gently. ‘When Harry was first injured the blood supply was completely blocked. I was lucky enough to get the leg into a position where the blood vessels are operating but I don’t know how permanent that is. The X-rays are telling me there are loose splinters of bone that could block the blood supply again. He has to be operated on and that need is urgent. I don’t have an anaesthetist and I don’t have the equipment, even if I was trained to do this sort of operation. Which I’m not. I’m sorry, Emily, but there is no choice.’

‘There must be.’

‘There isn’t.’

‘Harry, make her see…’ There were tears rolling down the woman’s face. Good grief, Lizzie thought. She was verging on the hysterical.

It was only a wedding.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry was there before her. His hand came out and caught his fiancée’s, gripping it tight. ‘No, Em. It’s you who has to see. Dr Darling’s right. I need to go to Melbourne. We need to postpone the wedding.’

‘If you give us a list of guests, May and I will sit down tonight and contact them,’ Lizzie told them. ‘May’s already offered. She tells me the hospital is quiet. Only five patients.’

‘I’ll need to go through patient lists before I go,’ Harry said sharply, and Lizzie thought, Gee, he sounds more worried about his patients than he does about his wedding.

Maybe he was. Weddings weren’t her cup of tea either.

‘May’s shown me the ward sheets. There’s nothing I can’t deal with.’

‘Unless Phoebe goes into labour,’ Harry told her, and Lizzie found herself smiling at the man. He was grinning up at her—a faint half-grin, but magnetic for all that.

He did have the most wonderful smile…

‘I already checked to see if there was a vet in town before I took this job,’ she told him, fascinated, and even more fascinated as his eyes crinkled into laughter.

‘You mean you checked the vet situation but you didn’t check the medical scene?’

‘I checked what was important. Though if I’d known the town had only one suicidal doctor…’ She gasped and caught herself. What was she doing, giving him cheek? Laughing with him? She should be checking his sedation and wishing him a safe journey.

She should be moving right on.

‘Is there anything you need before I go?’ she asked stiffly, and his smile died. Beside him, Emily was standing ashen with shock, and he gave her a worried look.

‘Something for Em?’

‘A sedative?’

‘She’s been looking forward to this wedding for a long time.’

She’s been looking forward to this wedding? Nothing about him, she noticed.

But that could wait. It wasn’t her business.

‘Will you go with Harry?’ she asked, and the other woman turned to her with blind eyes.

‘Of course I’ll go with Harry. And I don’t need anything. I don’t need a sedative.’ But her voice was wobbling dangerously.

‘Can I ring your parents? Someone to help you?’

‘Every single one of Em’s relatives has been in town for over a week,’ Harry said ruefully. ‘But they’ll be no support at all.’ His grip on Emily’s hand tightened and his voice became urgent. ‘Em, you need to stay here. Lizzie’s going to need help.’

‘I’m coming with you. Dr Darling can cope by herself. She got us into this mess. My mother can cope with wedding things. She can set another date…’

‘Leave setting the date for a while,’ Lizzie told her. She put a hand on Emily’s shoulder and looked sideways at Harry. She didn’t understand what was going on here. There were very interesting undertones… ‘Let me call your mother now,’ she offered. ‘I’ll give you something to help settle you for the trip. You’ve had a shock as well as Harry and you need to be kind to yourself. But meanwhile you need to pack, for yourself and for Harry. The plane will be here very soon.’

Emily cast her a look that was more than desperate. ‘I don’t need any sedative,’ she snapped. ‘Of course I don’t. Don’t be stupid. I’ll pack. I’ll talk to my mother.’ She shook her head as if casting off a nightmare. ‘I’ll do it now.’

She cast one despairing glance at Harry. ‘If you’re sure…’

‘We’re sure, Em,’ Harry said gently, and Em gave a last angry gasp.

‘Fine, then. I’ll pack.’

And she left Lizzie and Harry alone.

‘I’m sorry.’ With Em gone, Lizzie lifted the chart at the end of the bed and started writing. There’d be a doctor on the air ambulance, and the medical team in Melbourne would need to know what she’d done.

‘Don’t be sorry.’ Harry looked remarkably cheerful for someone who was in pain, who’d almost lost his leg and who’d just missed out on his wedding. ‘It was more Em’s wedding than mine anyway.’

‘You only need to put it back a week or so. If the leg can be pinned you’ll be weight-bearing in no time.’

‘I’m not getting married until I can put my dinner suit on. That’ll be weeks.’

‘May says the ambulance service will bring you back as soon as the orthopods let you go.’ She’d perched on the seat Em had vacated and she wrote up the drug sheet. ‘That should be no more than a few days.’

‘You’ll stay on?’

‘I shouldn’t,’ she said bitterly, setting down her pen and gazing at him with resignation. ‘I’ve been tricked into coming here.’

‘Not by me. And you hit me.’

‘You ran into my car.’

‘I did,’ he conceded. ‘Running in the middle of the road isn’t exactly a sensible thing to do.’

‘Your mind was on other things?’

‘I’d had a bit much wedding.’ He winced and she rose to adjust the cradle over his leg.

‘I’ll give you more morphine just before you’re moved.’

‘I’d appreciate it. Lizzie…the patients…’

‘You have Mrs Kelly in One with a brand-new daughter who’s just been transferred back after delivering in Melbourne. You have Ted Parker in Two with angina. Robby Bradly and Pete Scoresby aged ten and eleven respectively are in Three with multiple abrasions and a couple of green-stick fractures after their cubby house decided to fall twenty feet from a eucalypt. They should be right to go home tomorrow as soon as their respective mothers have recovered from the shock. And Lillian Mark is in Four with anorexia.’

‘May’s told you everything.’

‘I’ve even read the patient notes,’ she told him, and if her voice sounded a wee bit smug, who could blame her? She’d been so out of control it was nice to be able to gather a little bit of normality. Like reading patient notes.

But Harry was frowning. Concentrating. ‘It’s Lillian I wanted to talk to you about,’ he managed. ‘She should be in a psychiatric ward but her parents won’t hear of it. I’m worried about her. There’s the potential for suicide.’

‘She won’t suicide on my patch.’

‘You’re very sure.’

‘I’ve dealt with anorexic kids before.’ She softened. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her now and I’ll run ward rounds four times a day.’

‘You can’t stay out at that damned holiday unit.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t. Phoebe’s going to kill herself if I try.’

‘And you can’t be on call out there. You’re the only doctor. You need to be able to be contacted.’

She thought about that and didn’t like it. Twenty-four seven on call wasn’t what she’d intended. ‘You were running out of cellphone range,’ she told him.

‘For half an hour. Because every phone call was about the wedding.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Heavy, huh?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘So maybe I saved you from a fate worse than death?’

‘Or maybe I’ll just have to go through the whole damned palaver again.’

‘You’re a big boy. You can cope.’ She rose and tilted her head on one side, taking him in. ‘I need to go. May’s trying to find me accommodation where Phoebe’s welcome.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not holding my breath.’

‘Use the doctor’s quarters.’

‘What—your place?’

‘I won’t be there.’

‘You’ll be back in three or four days.’

‘There’s two bedrooms and most of my stuff is at Emily—at our new home.’

She thought about it. Of course. They were marrying. He’d be well out of the doctor’s quarters.

‘You reckon the hospital board will object to Phoebe?’

‘Probably, but tell them it’s a package deal. You and Phoebe or nothing. I think you’ll find they have no choice.’ He closed his eyes and winced again. ‘Hell, when am I due for more morph?’

She checked her watch. ‘I’ll give you some now. You sound like you’re getting addicted.’

‘You have no idea.’

She smiled and rang the bell. Ten seconds later May’s bright face appeared around the door. ‘Problem?’

‘We need a nice healthy dose of morphine so the good doctor can sleep all the way to Melbourne,’ Lizzie told her, and May nodded.

‘Coming right up.’ She hesitated. ‘Though you might want to add a bit for Emily. I think she intends to weep all the way there.’

‘Make her stay,’ Harry said weakly, and May’s eyes creased in sympathy.

‘No can do,’ she said softly. ‘Your fiancée. Your problem. And maybe our Dr Darling has given you breathing space to figure it out.’

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