by Margaret Way
“I wondered where you had gone.”
Jodie pulled herself around Heath to stand in between him and her mother, who had thrown of all things a matted old fur coat over her clothes before heading out.
“Um, Mum. This is Heath Jameson. My husband.”
“Oh,” Patricia said, her eyes opening wide.
Heath leaned around Jodie and held out a wide tanned hand. As Patricia always did around a handsome man, she all but curtsied as she gave him a limp ladylike handshake.
“Pleased to meet you, Patricia.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” Patricia managed to drag her eyes from Heath’s handsome face long enough to remember Jodie was even there. Jodie braced herself for some sort of passive-aggressive comment.
“Won’t you both come inside?” Patricia said. “Stay for a drink. Derek and I would really like it if you would.”
Jodie froze. That was it? Heath gave her waist a little squeeze, and she knew he would follow her lead whatever she decided to do.
The temptation of the hotel, the king-sized bed and the Jacuzzi was strong. But a civilized drink with Derek, Patricia, and her new husband? Somehow she thought this would be a night that might never in her life be repeated.
“Okay, Mum. We’ll stay.”
That night, they had a party enlivened by cheap champagne—Jodie did her best not to monitor how much her mum drank—and canapés with some sort of smear on top that tasted vaguely fishy. They all wore paper party hats, and feather boas, with Patricia’s being the most vibrant red.
Patricia was an utterly eccentric hostess. Derek mooned over her every move. And Heath and Jodie sat back and watched the whole thing as if it were some sort of anthropological experiment.
“They are madly in love, aren’t they?” Heath whispered into Jodie’s ear as Patricia fed Derek from a bunch of grapes.
“Yeah,” Jodie agreed. “Even a year down the track they look like honeymooners.”
“Do you think we’ll be like them when we get old and grey?”
“Don’t count on it, buddy!” she said, laughing. “But then again, the day Patricia lets herself turn grey I’ll feed you anything you like.”
Christmas Day dawned rainy and grey.
Jodie peeked out of the curtains to the London street five floors below, and took in what was maybe her last British Christmas for a good long while. But that didn’t really matter. So long as she and her husband were together, the Christmases could be white, golden, or hot pink with green spots as far as she was concerned.
Jodie took a big long sip of lukewarm black tea, deciding that, though it was hardly exotic, this was in fact her favourite drink. Especially since her husband had made it for her.
The bed rocked and Jodie smiled as she felt Heath slide back under the sheets after ordering room service.
“Good morning, wife,” he whispered before nibbling on her ear.
She let the curtain fall back into place, then rolled until she lay beneath him, and sighed as he settled into a more comfortable position with his legs curled along hers.
“Good morning, husband,” she said, tracing a finger along his clean-cut jaw.
“Plans for today?”
“Um, I was thinking of lying in for a bit. Eating something rich, sweet, and decadent. A dip in the tub followed by lunch. Then maybe some more time lying in.”
“And as for the rest of the day?”
“Your choice.”
“Hmm,” he hummed into her neck. “I’m sure I can come up with something to keep us occupied.”
Jodie gave into the heady sensation for a few moments longer before the buzzing in her head grew too loud. Though it pained her to do so, she pushed Heath away. “But first I have to make a phone call.”
Heath’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “To whom?”
“Lou. I’ll be quick, I promise. I’ve had an idea in my head the last couple of days and I won’t rest until I follow it through.”
“You won’t rest?” Heath asked. “You’ve talked to her on the phone every day since you’ve been here. Please don’t tell your new husband that your lack of rest has more to do with this idea in your head than to do with his energetic and improvisational lovemaking?”
She kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I would never tell you that.”
“Why, you little—”
But Jodie had already reached out for the phone and begun to dial. She held a finger to her lips, demanding he be quiet.
He grinned down at her, his heavenly blue eyes brimming with devilment, and she had the distinct feeling that the second she was off the phone she would have to pay for her dissidence. The very thought had her wanting to get off the phone as soon as humanly possible.
“Louise Valentine speaking.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Jodie. And thanks so much for the present.”
“Promise me you’ll wear it today.”
“Oh, I have every intention of doing so. I am meeting the Valentines for our regular Christmas do later today, which ought to be a stilted and uncomfortable family affair as per usual, and this will set off my outfit perfectly.”
“That’s my girl.” Jodie grinned, though she thought it more likely the flashing mistletoe belly ring would end up hidden beneath some elegant ensemble in the end. “Now, before you make another excuse as to why we haven’t caught up, don’t panic. I have a way you can make it up to me.”
Heath suddenly disappeared beneath the sheets at the end of the bed.
“Oh,” Louise said. “And what would that be, now?” “You need a date for this big Valentine Christmas party, right? Well, I think I have just the guy in mind. Heath’s brother Caleb. He’s blond. He’s a surfer. He’s gorgeous. He’s twenty-seven and he’s looking for someone to show him around. And he is just the sort to drive your dread cousin Max mad, which would surely make the party that much more fun for you. I am giving him your number.”
Caleb had begged them to take him out to dinner every night since they’d been there. And though the spate of fabulous restaurants they had frequented, including the magnificent Bella Lucia flagship restaurant in Jodie’s beloved Chelsea, were really very nice, she would prefer scrambled eggs with Heath in her hotel room any night.
Louise’s pause spoke volumes. “Me? My number?”
“Yes, you. Single, workaholic, has had no dates since I have known you. Take him to the party. Introduce him to Cosmopolitans. Show him the London Eye. Okay?”
“Well, I guess. Okay.”
Jodie pulled her foot away as Heath began to tickle it in earnest. “I have to go, Lou. Talk to you later,” she said, before hanging up and throwing the phone onto the carpet.
She pulled her feet up to her chest and tried her best to roll away, but Heath grabbed her around the waist and pulled her deeper under the covers with him. She came face to face with him, the glow of the morning sun shining through the white cotton sheet.
“No more phone calls,” Heath said, his voice deep and suggestive and sending tingles all the way to Jodie’s toes that felt way better than tickling ever could.
“No more phone calls,” she promised before giving in and kissing her husband.
But come on, she was in love, and she only wished the whole world were as happy. Was that such a bad thing?
Outback Doctor in Danger
Emily Forbes
About the Author
EMILY FORBES is actually two sisters who share a passion for reading and a love of writing. Currently living three minutes apart in South Australia, with their husbands and young families, they saw writing for Medical Romance™ as the ideal opportunity to switch careers. They come from a medical family, and between them have degrees in physiotherapy, psychology, law and business. With this background they were drawn to the Medical Romance™ series, first as readers and now also as writers. Their shared interests include travel, cooking, photography and languages.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE CONSULTANT’S TEMPTATION
CITY DOCTOR, OUTBACK NURSE
To Dad—Thank you for encouraging us to believe that we can do anything.
CHAPTER ONE
“WHAT the hell was that?”
Dr Matt Zeller and Air Ambulance Service pilot Ryan Fitzpatrick felt the tarmac shake under their feet as a huge explosion erupted. As one, they turned to look in the direction of the noise, squinting against the afternoon sun across the narrow stretch of water separating the airport from the town of Port Cadney. For a moment they froze in disbelief at the sight that met their eyes—a huge fireball erupting into the sky, shooting flames and thick, billowing smoke hundreds of feet into the air.
An eerie silence followed the deafening sound of the initial explosion. It must have lasted just for a second or so but it seemed the whole of Port Cadney might have been blown apart, leaving only the fire. The men stood transfixed, mesmerised by the sight of the massive flames. The seagulls, silent for the last few seconds, began to screech and the everyday sound galvanised Matt into action.
Even before Matt had covered the short distance to the base office, next to the small airport terminal, he heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles heading for the accident site. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many casualties but there was no way of guessing. He had no idea what had just happened.
He flung open the door of the office, heading straight for Sheila’s desk, the base manager looking up from her conversation on the two-way radio.
“Hang on, Abbey, Matt’s just got back. Over.” She took a deep breath and blew it out with force. “The explosion is at the wharf. I haven’t got any more details but they’re calling for as many medical personnel as we can reach. Davina will wait here for any calls we get. Can you head across to the docks?”
“On my way.”
Matt ran to his car, his long legs making short work of the distance, and dived into the driver’s seat, thrusting the key into the ignition. For once his old car started without any complaints. He pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and his car shot out of the parking bay, sending a shower of dirt and stones behind it. It would take him ten minutes to make his way to the bridge across the gulf and then back down the other side to the wharf area.
He drove with his window down to get some relief from the unseasonably hot day. Crossing the bridge, he had an unobstructed view of thick clouds of black smoke rolling out over the water. The stench was extraordinary, and he was still a good five-minute drive away. What was burning to make the air thick with such a smell? Rubber? Fuel? Paint?
Pulling into the wharf area, he realised the smoke wasn’t as thick here as he’d expected. The wind was blowing away from the wharf, taking a lot of the smoke with it. What was more worrying was the number of people down here. Port Cadney was a small town, population fifteen thousand, but many of the families made their living from fishing so it was not surprising so many were here, trying to find out what had happened. But would emergency personnel be able to keep onlookers from making their job more difficult?
Matt saw Tom Johnston through the crowd and drove through the path the police chief cleared for him. Tom leaned down to speak to him through his lowered window, passing Matt a fluorescent orange, all-weather jacket at the same time.
“What happened?” Matt asked.
“An explosion on one of the trawlers. That’s about all we know at this point but they’ll be glad of another pair of hands. You’ll have to park there …” Tom indicated an area beside an old warehouse “… and make your way to the front on foot. Careful how you go—there’s a lot of debris.”
Getting out of the car, Matt hauled the jacket on as he headed towards the emergency vehicles, their red and blue lights flashing through the haze. The smoke grew thicker as he neared the accident site but it wasn’t enough to impede breathing—just enough to make him wish he didn’t have to smell the stench.
He ran. More of a hop, really, trying to avoid the shards of glass and fragments of metal and wood that littered the wharf, those he stepped on cracking and snapping beneath his feet. Hundreds of dead fish also lay amongst the debris, their shiny, slippery bodies more lethal to a running medic than the detritus of the boat. The trawler must have just come in with a big catch, and the fish would have been sent flying with the force of the explosion. The wharf always smelt of fish but already the odour was worse—the smell of burnt fish mixed with the fumes of the fire was foul.
As he reached the group of vehicles forming a makeshift treatment site, he slid to a stop, his attention caught momentarily by the spectacular sight of the burning fishing trawler, still a hundred metres or so away. He’d never seen such a massive fire. Flames with a terrifying life of their own were wrapping around the trawler’s enginehouse and stern, consuming the boat in a gigantic bonfire. Even from this distance, Matt could feel the heat, intense on his skin, over and above the heat of the day and hear the roaring of the flames, punctuated now and then by smaller explosions and voices calling out above the noise. Several other boats had already moored for the night and the flames had spread to boats on either side, leaping across the narrow gaps from one boat to another. Firefighters were tackling the blaze from each end, trying to stop the destruction. Trawlers that were, as yet, unaffected were being moved out of harm’s way to more distant moorings.
A voice brought his focus back to his current role. “Glad you’re here.” Stuart Davis, one of the consultant general surgeons, was kneeling next to a prostrate figure, inserting a drip into a forearm.
“This guy’s bleeding heavily from stomach wounds.” His voice was controlled but there was an urgency about the way he spoke, an economy of words that spoke volumes. “I’ll have to operate ASAP. There’s one confirmed casualty …” he nodded towards a nearby stretcher draped with a full-length sheet “… many injured and a few still unaccounted for. A couple of kids are bleeding badly. Connor could use a hand.” He jerked his head towards the paramedic.
“Got it.” Matt headed in Connor’s direction just as Stuart called for a second paramedic to load his patient into the ambulance.
Connor was treating an old fisherman and Matt recognised him as the owner of one of the fishing boats. The man was half lying against a bollard, looking very grey. Connor had applied a cervical collar and was checking the patient’s blood pressure, and although the man was bleeding from a deep gash above one eye, the paramedic was ignoring that. Matt knew from the patient’s colour that there was more going on than a superficial head wound and Connor obviously thought so, too.
“How does it look?” he asked as he squatted down beside them.
“BP 180 over 110, heart rate 180. He was complaining of left-sided chest and shoulder pain.” Connor didn’t take his eyes off his patient who was now having difficulty breathing.
“Get him into the ambulance—we need to get a trace on him.”
Together, they transferred the fisherman to the ambulance on a spinal board, ripping open his flannel shirt to attach the ECG electrodes. His skin was cool and clammy.
“Atrial fibrillation,” Matt said as the signal appeared on the screen. “Does he have a history of heart problems?”
Connor shook his head. “No. I’ve checked that.” He fitted an oxygen mask over the man’s mouth and nose to assist his breathing and then grabbed an IV cannula from a nearby container. “Insert the line for me,” Connor said as he stepped aside to retrieve the necessary medications.
Matt slid the cannula into place in the back of the fisherman’s hand just as Connor returned, lifting the oxygen mask and slipping half an Anginine tablet under the patient’s tongue. Drawing up five milligrams of morphine and some digoxin, he showed Matt the drugs before handing him the syringe so he could inject the drugs through the IV line.
“You’d better get him to hospital now,” Matt said, climbing out of the ambulance. Connor nodded, one eye on the monitor, the other on their patient, clearly waiting to see if his heartbeat regulated.
; He slid the door closed, leaving Connor to monitor the patient on the trip to hospital. As the volunteer ambulance officer in front switched on the siren and drove away, Matt turned back towards the carnage, scanning the scene for the next most critical case.
He flicked a glance to the trawler, concern pricking his mind at the sight, the fire still raging and towering above the firefighters. They seemed to be getting control over the fire at each end of the burning row of boats, but if the wind changed direction there was no telling how quickly the flames would spread to the buildings along the wharf.
“Matt? Are you Matt?”
He looked down and saw a petite, fair-haired stranger at his side. She was wearing a bright orange medical jacket, too, but hers swamped her tiny frame. He felt the air rush out of him as he met her eyes.
“Are you Matt?”
He shook his head, trying to loosen his tongue, then realised she thought he was answering her question. “I mean yes.”
“Lauren sent me to see what you needed. I’m a registered nurse. Steffi.”
His gaze went to Steffi’s mouth, and lingered there, almost as if he was lip-reading. “Lauren?” His brain still hadn’t caught up. Her lips looked soft and moist. His gaze stalled for a moment before he lifted his eyes and met hers, big and bright blue. He felt a flash of recognition. But he knew they hadn’t met before, he’d remember. They stood there, chaos reigning around them, and he couldn’t tear his gaze, or his mind, away from her. She was lovely, lovely to look at, and if he looked away, mightn’t she vanish as quickly as she’d come, back into nothingness?
He heard her clear her throat and it snapped him back to reality but left his heart hammering in his chest, and the words that he should be saying, the actions he should be taking, were still eluding him.
“Lauren Harrison.” She answered his last query. “She told me she works with you.”
Matt found his voice. “Yes, of course. You’re a nurse?”
Steffi nodded and he returned it with a brief nod of his own tousled head. “OK, follow me.” He walked away, shortening his stride so that this girl with bright blue eyes—Steffi, was that what she’d said her name was?—could keep pace. He was back in work mode and his comfort level regained its equilibrium.