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Her head was okay for the moment. But he stood and looked down at her and thought, There’s more here than scratches. She was trying to make light of her injuries, but he recognised pain when he saw it.
She’d been limping. One knee of her jeans was shredded and bloodstained, though not nearly as dramatically as her face. Still…
He bent, carefully took the torn part of the leg of her jeans in both hands and ripped it to the ankle.
Hell.
How had she managed to climb down the cliff? How had she stood up at all?
She’d cut her knee—it was bleeding sluggishly—but that was only part of it. Already it had swollen to almost twice its size. There was a massive haematoma building behind.
‘Yikes,’ she whispered, pushing herself up on her elbows to look. ‘Why did you do that? It was better when I couldn’t see.’
‘Let’s get it elevated,’ he said, and mentally wished his jacket farewell. He folded it then wedged it under her bloodied knee. A spare tyre had spilled from the cattle crate. He put that under her feet, so her legs were raised on an incline as well.
She needed X-rays. Both leg and head, he thought. No matter what she said, he wasn’t about to let her die of an intracranial bleed just because she was stubborn. And there was also the biggie. The baby might have suffered a blow, and even if it was okay the impact could cause problems with the placenta. She needed an ultrasound, and bed-rest and observation.
Her baby needed attention. That meant he needed to hand her over and get away. Fast.
‘We need an ambulance,’ he told her, tugging his cellphone from his pocket. ‘You need X-rays.’
‘You can give that up as a joke,’ she said wearily. ‘Even if there was reception out here—which there isn’t—you’re looking at Yandilagong’s only ambulance right here.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s not usually the truck. I have a decent-sized estate wagon, only it blew the radiator hose this morning.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘My truck’s the local ambulance until I can get a new radiator hose,’ she said patiently, as if talking to someone who wasn’t very bright. ‘And there’s not one to be had locally for love or money. I’ll get one from Gosland tomorrow—if I can leave Gran for that long.’
‘There’s no ambulance?’ He didn’t have time for the extra information she was throwing at him. He needed to ignore what wasn’t making sense and concentrate on essentials. ‘Why not?’
‘You try attracting medical staff or funding for decent equipment to a place as remote as this,’ she said bitterly. ‘This weekend there’ll be a couple of first-aiders with the music festival, but that’s all the help I have. If I can’t get an ambulance from other areas then I use my own vehicle to take patients to Gosland. That’s our nearest hospital, about an hour away. There’s basic stuff here, like an X-ray machine, but that’s in town, and getting through the crush of the festival isn’t going to happen. But it doesn’t matter,’ she said resolutely. ‘I’d like to check my baby’s heartbeat but I’m sure I’m fine. I just need to get home to Gran. It’s Gran who’s the emergency and she doesn’t need an ambulance. She needs me.’
Was she some kind of volunteer paramedic? This was sounding crazier and crazier.
He turned away and surreptitiously checked his phone. Sure enough, no reception. Okay, he conceded. No ambulance.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, trying to figure where to start.
‘Maggie. We’re wasting time.’
‘How pregnant are you?’
‘Thirty-two weeks.’ And all of a sudden there was a quaver in her voice. ‘He’s okay.’
‘Can you feel him?’ Even asking that hurt, he thought. Hell, he’d lost his son six years ago. Would he ever get over it?
Luckily she’d only heard his professional question. ‘Yes.’ But there was still the quaver. ‘He’s kicking.’
‘Good.’ Kicking was good. But as Maggie had said, he needed to check the heartbeat. He wanted a stethoscope. Add it to the list, he thought grimly. Ambulance, X-rays, stethoscope, ultrasound, a medical team to take over while he walked away.
It wasn’t going to happen. Meanwhile, there was the small problem of the mess blocking the road.
‘If someone else comes round this bend…’ he said, trying to figure out priorities.
‘It’s not used much,’ she told him. ‘But there’s the odd out-of-towner stupid enough to try and get to the highway this way.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
She winced. ‘Sorry. Yes, that was rude. But we do need to clear the road.’ She stared across at the mess. ‘You’ll need help pulling the crate out of the way. Hang on.’ And she put her hands onto the ground to push herself up.
‘No!’ He was down beside her in an instant, taking a shoulder in each hand and pressing back.
And his preconceptions were changing all over the place. At first he’d thought she was little more than a teenager, like the young mothers he saw clustered outside the prenatal clinics near his consulting suite in the hospital he worked in. They were mostly scared kids, forced by pregnancy into growing up too fast, but the more he saw of this woman the more he acknowledged maturity. There were lines etched around her eyes—smile lines that had taken time to grow. And more. Life lines?
She looked like a woman who’d seen a lot, he thought suddenly.
She wasn’t beautiful—not in the traditional sense—and yet the eyes that met his as he pushed her back down onto the verge were clear and bright and almost luminous. They were eyes to make a man take another look.
And then another.
‘Hey, let me up,’ she ordered, as if sensing the inappropriate direction his thoughts were taking, and he came to with a snap.
‘You want that leg to swell so far I have to lance it to take the pressure off?’
Her eyes widened. ‘What the…?’
‘You’re bleeding into the back of your knee,’ he said. ‘If it gets any worse you’ll have circulation problems. I want it X-rayed. And like you, I’m worrying about the baby. You need an ultrasound.’
‘You’re a doctor?’ Her voice was incredulous.
‘For my pains,’
‘Well, how about that?’ she whispered, sounding awed. ‘A doctor, and a bossy one at that. A surgeon, I’ll bet.’
‘Sort of, but—’
‘They’re the worst. Look, if I promise to sign insurance indemnity, can I get up?’
‘No.’
‘The crate…’
‘I’ll move the truck.’
‘You and whose army?’
‘Just shut up for a minute,’ he said, irritated, and there was her smile again.
‘Yes, Doctor.’
The words were submissive but the smile wasn’t. It was a cute smile. Cheeky. Pert. Flashing out despite her fear.
‘You’re a nurse,’ he demanded, suspicious.
‘No, Doctor,’ she said, still submissive, still smiling, though there was no way she could completely disguise the look of pain and fear behind her eyes. ‘But you need to let me help.’
‘In your dreams,’ he growled, disarmed by her smile and struggling to keep a hold on the situation. Worst-case scenario—she could go into labour.
Or she could lose the baby.
Another death…
He needed a medical kit. Usually he carried basic first-aid equipment but his friends’ luggage had filled the trunk and the back seat. Fiona and Brenda. No medicine this weekend, they’d said, and they’d meant it.
Women. And here was another, causing trouble.
But, actually, Maggie wasn’t causing trouble, he conceded, or no more than she could help. She looked like there was no way she’d complain, but he could see the strain in her eyes.
Okay, he told himself. Move. This woman needs help and there’s only me to give it.
‘I meant what I said about keeping still,’ he told her. ‘I have work to do and you’ll just get in the way. So stay!’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly, but he didn’t believe the meekness for a minute.
There wasn’t a lot of choice. In truth, Maggie’s leg hurt so much she was feeling dizzy. She lay back on the grass and tried not to think about the consequences of what had just happened and how it might have affected her baby. That was truly terrifying. She tried not to think how Gran would be needing pain relief, and how she’d been away from home for far too long. She thought about how her leg felt like it might drop off, and that she wouldn’t mind if it did.
If this guy really was a doctor he might have something in the back of his fancy car that’d help.
He really was a doctor. He had about him an air of authority and intelligence that she knew instinctively was genuine. He was youngish—mid-thirties, she guessed—but if she had to guess further she’d say he was in a position of power in his profession. He’d be past the hands-on stage with patients—to a point in his profession where seniority meant he could move back from the personal.
She wasn’t a bad judge of character. This guy seemed competent—and he was also seriously attractive. Yeah, even in pain she’d noticed that, for what woman wouldn’t? He was tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous. But also he seemed instinctively aloof? Why?
But this was hardly the time for personal assessments of good-looking doctors. The pain in her leg stabbed upward and she switched to thinking what the good-looking doctor might have in the back of his car that might help.
What could she take this far along in pregnancy? Her hands automatically clasped her belly and she flinched. No.
‘We need to get through this without drugs,’ she whispered to her bump. ‘Just hang in there.’
There was an answering flutter from inside, and her tension eased slightly. The seat belt had pulled tight across her stomach in the crash. There’d been an initial flutter, but she wanted more. This flutter was stronger, and as she took a deep breath the flutter became a kick.
Great! Maybe her baby hadn’t noticed the crash or, if he had, he was kicking in indignation.
‘We’ll be okay,’ she whispered for what must be the thousandth time in her pregnancy. ‘Me and you and the world.’
And she had a doctor at hand. A gorgeous one.
But gorgeous or not, doctor or not, the guy had no time for medicine right now, and her training had her agreeing with him. Triage told her that unless her breathing was impaired or she was bleeding to death, the road had to be cleared. Someone could speed around the corner at any minute and a minor accident could become appalling.
But how could he move the crate? It was blocking the road in such a way it stopped both the car and the truck from being moved. He couldn’t lift it.
He didn’t. As she watched, he put his shoulder against it, shoving harder than she’d thought possible.
The crate was about eight feet long by six feet wide, iron webbing built around a floor of heavy iron. It had been on the back of the truck for the last twenty years. She’d had no idea it could come loose.
Gran hadn’t told her that. There were lots of things Gran hadn’t told her, she thought grimly, a long litany of deception. In fact, Maggie’s decision to have this baby had been based partly on Gran’s deceit.
But there was no way she could yell at Gran now. In truth, she was so worried about the old lady she felt sick.
What else? She wanted to cry because her leg was throbbing. She desperately needed to check on her baby’s heartbeat.
But instead she was lying still as ordered, her leg stuck up in front of her, watching this bossy surgeon shift her crate.
If she had to have an arrogant surgeon bossing her while he organised her life, at least she’d been sent one whose body was almost enough to distract her from the pain she was feeling.
When she’d first seen him he’d looked smoothly handsome, expensive. Now his perfectly groomed, jet-black hair was wet with sweat, dark curls clinging to his forehead. A trace of five-o’clock shadow accentuated his strongly boned face, and his dark eyes were keen with the intent of strain.
He also looked gorgeous. It was an entirely inappropriate thought, she decided, but it was there, whether she willed it or not. This man was definite eye-candy.
He had all his weight against the crate now. He was grunting with effort, sweat glistening. One of his arms was bare—courtesy of the pad she was holding above her eye—and his arm was a mass of sinews. As was his chest. The more he sweated, the more his shirt became a damp and transparent nothing, exposing serious muscles.
And the more he sweated the more she was distracted from everything she should be focussed on. This was crazy. She was seven months pregnant. She was injured. She had so many worries her head was about to explode, yet here she was transfixed by the sight of a colleague attempting to move a weight far too big for one man.
Only it wasn’t. The crate was moving, an inch at a time and then faster, and then he found rhythm. He was right behind it and he kept on pushing, right up to the verge.
The verge was too narrow to hold it.
She should have been thinking forward to what he intended, but she was caught. Watching him. Fascinated.
‘Move!’ He gave one last gigantic heave—and it slid onto the verge and further. Before she realised what was happening, the crate was toppling over the side of the cliff, crashing its way down to the beach below. Leaving her stunned.
‘So how do you suggest I get the calves home now?’ she muttered, awed, but he wasn’t listening. He was in her truck already, shoving it into gear, reversing it from the cliff face. It sounded like something disastrous was happening inside the engine, but at least it moved. He drove it further along the road, parked it on a widened section of verge, then jogged back for his car.
She was a passive audience, stunned by his body and by his energy. And by…his car! She’d never seen an Aston Martin up close before. Not bad, she conceded, growing more distracted by the moment. Surgeon in open-topped roadster. Cool.
Or…hot.
Or maybe the blow to her head was making her thinking fuzzy. She should be too caught up with the pain in her knee to react like…well, like she was reacting.
But then, as he turned his fabulous car away from her, suddenly her fuzziness disappeared. It was replaced with a stab of panic so great it took her breath away. He’d backed away from the cliff, turning the car to head north.
North. Toward Sydney.
She was staggering to her feet, her hands out, rushing straight forward so he had to slam his brakes on or she would have run right into him. As it was, he stopped with barely an inch to spare.
She put her hand on the bonnet and tried to regroup. Tried to think of some way to say that this was panic, she hadn’t really thought he’d leave.
