Wedding in Darling Downs

by Leah Martyn

  ‘Eighteen. At present I’m taking a gap year before I start Uni.’

  ‘What are you studying?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Applied science. Eventually, I want to be associated with the equine industry, combine research and field work. Horses and their welfare are my great passion. I’ll need to do my doctorate, of course.’

  ‘That’s really worthwhile, Jodi,’ Emma said warmly. ‘Best of luck with your studies.’

  Declan made a restive movement in his chair, his dark brows flexed in query. ‘How are your computer skills, Jodi? We’d need you to be able to collate information, get the patients’ histories logged in and kept up to date.’

  ‘I’m thoroughly computer literate.’ Jodi twitched a long hank of dark hair over her shoulder. ‘I work quickly and thoroughly and I’m quite aware of the confidential nature of the job here. I’ll sign a clause to that effect if you need me to.’

  Emma bit hard on the inside of her cheek to stop the grin that threatened. This kid was something else. ‘We’ll probably get round to that, Jodi. But, if Dr O’Malley agrees, I think we can offer you the job. Declan?’

  ‘Uh—’ Declan’s eyes looked slightly glazed. He rocked forward in his chair. ‘Let’s agree on a trial period, Jodi, if that suits—say a month? And we’ll see how things are going then?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Jodi shrugged slender shoulders. Bending down, she flipped open her satchel. ‘I’ll leave you my CV. And there are several character references as well.’ She placed the file on the desk. ‘If there’s anything else you need to know, I’ll be available on my mobile.’ She smiled confidently and whirled to her feet. ‘So, I’ll see you both on Monday, then.’

  ‘Good grief,’ Declan said faintly after Jodi had swished out of the door. ‘Do you get the feeling we’re the ones who have just been interviewed?’

  Emma chuckled. ‘It’s the Gen Y thing. They’re inclined to set out terms and conditions to prospective employers. But isn’t she marvellous?’

  ‘Made me feel about a hundred and six,’ Declan growled. ‘Hell, was I ever that young and enthusiastic about life?’

  Emma stood and pushed her chair back in. ‘Probably we both were.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Declan’s tone was non-committal. ‘Well, we seem to have made a dint in what needs to be done here so, if you’re ready, I’d like to see over your hospital.’

  Chapter Three

  BENDEMERE’S hospital was old but beautifully kept. Declan looked around with growing interest. ‘This place has a long history, obviously,’ he remarked.

  ‘My grandfather actually funded the building of it,’ Emma said proudly. ‘These days, much of the accommodation is given over to nursing home beds for our seniors. Anything acute is sent straight on to Toowoomba by road ambulance. Or, in the case of serious trauma, we stabilise as best we can and chopper the patient out to Brisbane.’

  ‘Do you have a theatre?’ Declan began striding ahead, his interest clearly raised.

  ‘A small one—just here.’ She turned into an annexe and indicated the big oval window that looked into the pristine operating space. ‘Dad did basic surgical procedures. And Rachel Wallace, our nurse manager, has extensive theatre experience. She insists the maintenance is kept up. Shame it’s not used any more…’

  ‘It’s all here though, isn’t it?’ Declan’s gaze roamed almost hungrily, left and right and back again, as if to better acquaint himself with the layout. ‘Who did the gas when your dad operated?’

  ‘Oliver Shackelton. He’s retired in the district. And, even though he won’t see seventy again, I know Dad trusted his skills to the nth degree.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Declan pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. This was his natural environment. But he didn’t belong here any longer. Suddenly, it all came at him in a rush, a heartbeat, the past coming forward to link with the present. He felt the sudden tightening of his throat muscles. It was over. He was finished as a surgeon. He couldn’t operate any more. At least not in any way that was meaningful—from his standpoint, at least…

  ‘Declan…are you OK?’

  Declan’s head came up, looking at her without seeing. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We should get on,’ she cajoled gently.

  ‘Yes, we should.’ He turned abruptly, as if to shut out the scene he’d walked into so unguardedly. He felt weird, in no way prepared for the hollow feeling in his gut as he snapped off the light and closed the double doors on the annexe.

  Emma’s gaze moved over him. ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  He saw the compassion in her eyes, the softening, felt her empathy. But he wasn’t a kid who needed to cry on her shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, his tone gruff as if brushing her concern aside. ‘Fill me in about hospital staff.’

  Emma gave a mental shrug. He hadn’t fooled her for a minute. Well, if that was how he wanted to handle it, that was his business, his life. ‘I’ve sent out an email to the nurses to advise them you were joining the practice.’ She didn’t add they’d probably done their own research on the Internet in the meantime. ‘Rachel is our nurse manager,’ she reiterated as they made their way along to the station. ‘We have three other permanent RNs who alternate shifts and Dot Chalmers is permanent nights. Ancillary staff are rostered as necessary.’

  ‘Leave and sick days?’ Declan fell into step beside her.

  ‘Covered by a small pool of nurses who mainly live in the district.’

  ‘That seems like a reasonable set-up,’ Declan said. ‘I imagine the staff value their jobs quite highly.’

  ‘And the folk hereabouts value them,’ Emma said, leaving him in no doubt that any changes there would be unacceptable. Just in case he was thinking along those lines.

  ‘Hospital maintenance is covered by a local firm, as is security. And Betty Miller is our indispensable hospital cook.’

  Declan nodded, taking everything on board. He began to quicken his pace.

  ‘Patients now?’

  Emma rolled her eyes. He’d have to learn to slow down if he was going to relate to the locals. ‘Is there a fire somewhere?’ she enquired innocently.

  ‘Forgot.’ He sent her a twisted grin. ‘I’m keen to get cracking, that’s all.’

  ‘Hello, people.’ Rachel, tall and slender, came towards them, her nimbus of auburn hair stark against the white walls of the hospital corridor. ‘And you are Dr O’Malley, I presume?’ Beaming, the nurse manager stuck her hand out towards Declan.

  ‘I am.’ Declan shook her hand warmly. ‘And it’s Declan. I’ve just been getting the lay of the land from Emma. It looks like a great little hospital.’

  ‘We’re proud of it.’ Rachel spun her gaze between the two medical officers. ‘Um—I was just on my way for a cuppa.’

  ‘Don’t let us hold you up,’ Emma insisted. Despite it being a small hospital, she knew the nurses worked hard and deserved their breaks.

  ‘OK, then. I won’t be long.’ Rachel began to move away and then turned back. ‘I knew you’d be along so I’ve pulled the charts on our current patients.’

  ‘Take your time.’ Emma smiled. ‘And thanks, Rach. We’ll be fine.’

  ‘I guess you know this place like the back of your hand,’ Declan surmised as they made their way along to the nurses’ station.

  Emma sent him a quick look. It still seemed surreal that this once highly ambitious, powerful man was now to all intents and purposes her practice partner. Her hand closed around the small medallion at her throat. No doubt, for the moment, the newness of what he’d taken on was enough to keep him motivated. But what would happen when the grind of family practice began to wear thin? Where would his motivation be then?

  In a dry little twist of quirky humour, Emma transposed the scenario into equine terms. Surely what Declan was proposing was like expecting a thoroughbred racer to feel fulfilled pulling a plough…

  ‘Something amusing you, Emma?’ Declan lifted a dark brow.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, going behind the counter and
collecting the charts Rachel had left out.

  ‘OK, who’s the first cab off the rank?’ Declan asked, settling on one of the high stools next to her.

  ‘Russell Kernow, age seventy-five, lives alone,’ Emma said. ‘I saw him at the surgery a week ago. He was presenting with an incessant cough, raised temperature. I prescribed roxithromycin. His condition didn’t improve and I admitted him two days ago. He was seriously dehydrated, complained his chest felt tight. I’ve placed him on an inhaler twice daily and the cough seems to have diminished slightly. I’ve sent bloods off as well.’

  ‘So, you’re testing for what—serology, pertussis, mycoplasma?’

  ‘Plus legionella,’ Emma said.

  Declan raised a dark brow. ‘Is that a possibility?’

  ‘A remote one, but Russell’s house is fully air-conditioned. He spends much of his time indoors. And we’ve since found out the filters on his air-con unit haven’t been changed for two years.’

  ‘Still…legionella is drawing a fairly long bow,’ Declan considered.

  Emma bristled. If he was going to start telling her her job, they were going to fall out before the ink was dry on their partnership papers.

  Their eyes met. He could see the spark of hostility in her gaze. Hell, he didn’t want to blow things with her before they even got off the ground. ‘Just thinking aloud,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s your call. When do you expect the results?’

  ‘Soonish,’ Emma said, faintly mollified. ‘I’ve requested the path lab to fax them to us here.’ She turned, stroking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Next patient is Sylvia Gartrell, age sixty-five. Recently had surgery—hysterectomy and bladder repair. Post-op seven days. The air ambulance delivered her to us yesterday.’

  Declan ran his index finger between his brows. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Her bladder function hasn’t yet returned to normal. She’s having to self-catheterise and she’s finding the procedure difficult to manage. Currently, the nurses are giving her some guidance. It seemed the safest option to have her here until she feels competent to go it alone. At the moment she’s convinced she’ll be stuck with this problem for ever so she needs emotional support as well.’

  ‘Why was she released from hospital in the first place?’

  Emma sighed. ‘Same old story. They needed the bed.’

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud! We’ll need to keep a close eye on her, be mindful of the possibility of infection.’

  ‘We’re all aware of that, Declan.’

  He sighed. ‘OK, then, who’s next on our patient list?’

  ‘Only one more. Ashleigh Maine, aged eleven. Poor little kid had a bad asthma attack yesterday. Scared the life out of her.’

  ‘So what’s her prognosis?’

  ‘She’s getting some relief from a nebuliser and of course she’s on a drip. Her home situation is not as good as it could be, though. Dad still smokes.’

  Declan swore under his breath. ‘I realize tobacco is the drug some folk cling to when they’re under stress but surely, if his child is suffering, the man has to take stock of his actions?’

  ‘Normally, Ashleigh’s condition is fairly well managed but it only needs a change in routine and she’s struggling again.’

  ‘Are you aware of the study on asthmatics that’s been carried by the Jarvis Institute in Sydney?’ Declan asked pointedly.

  Emma’s gaze was suddenly uncertain. ‘It’s a breathing technique, isn’t it? I think there’s a new physio in Toowoomba who’s a graduate from the Institute. We got some leaflets. I was going to investigate it further just before Dad…died. Do you want to take the child on to your list?’

  ‘Fine with me,’ he replied calmly. ‘I’ll chase up the physio and get the parents in for a round-table chat. I’ve a few ideas that might help as well.’

  Emma defended her corner quietly. ‘I did try to put the parents in touch with the Asthma Foundation. They run camps and things that Ashleigh could attend with other youngsters with the same health problem. They declined.’

  Declan’s response was swift. ‘Leave it with me, Emma. I’m new to the place. They’ll take notice, believe me.’

  Emma opened her mouth and closed it. She hoped he wouldn’t jump all over the family. It wasn’t the way things worked in rural medicine. If the Maines took offence, that would be the end of the doctors getting access to Ashleigh. Oh, help. Which way should she jump? Forward, if she had any sense. ‘You will tread gently, won’t you, Declan?’

  His jaw hardened. ‘I’ll do what I need to do, Emma.’

  ‘Not with my patients, you won’t,’ she flared. ‘Bendemere is a close-knit community. You can’t go around upsetting people.’

  Hell, this was a minefield. She was guarding her territory, whereas he was used to giving orders and having them carried out immediately. OK, then. Back off, he told himself. ‘If we want this partnership to work, Emma, we have to trust each other’s medical skills. You haven’t had any complaints about my patient contact, have you?’

  ‘No…’ She lifted her hands in appeasement. ‘It’s just—we’re not used to working with each other yet.’

  His mouth pulled tight. Was this what he was about to sign on for—bickering over someone who couldn’t grasp that his inability to quit smoking was stuffing up his child’s health? He lifted his gaze to glance meaningfully at her. ‘Just let’s try to keep it professional, then.’

  Emma gritted her teeth. That was a low blow. She’d done everything she could under very difficult circumstances to keep their relationship professional. He’d been the one to overstep this morning when he’d touched her cheek! She tried to steady her thoughts. She’d have to swallow her angst with him if she didn’t want everything turned into ashes. New jobs had been promised and already there was an air of expectation about the town. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Rachel heading towards them, a tea tray in her hands. ‘I thought you might need this,’ she said. ‘And Betty’s made us some of her special ginger biscuits,’ she added brightly, sensing an air of tension between the two.

  ‘Lovely,’ Emma said faintly.

  ‘I’ll take a rain check, thanks, Rachel.’ Declan spun off his stool. ‘I’ll get on and make myself known to our patients.’

  ‘Then I’ll accompany you,’ Rachel said.

  ‘There’s no need.’ He gave an impatient twitch of his shoulder. ‘I’m sure I can manage.’

  Rachel’s raised brows spoke volumes, before she swept up the patient charts. ‘My hospital, my call, Dr O’Malley. Besides, I need to strut my stuff occasionally,’ she said cheekily. ‘It’s ages since I walked the wards with a posh doc.’

  Emma watched them walk away together, saw Declan turn his head, heard his rumble of laughter as he interacted with Rachel. She made a little sniff of disapproval. Shaking off a disquiet she didn’t understand, she took up one of Betty’s ginger biscuits and dunked it in her tea.

  By Sunday afternoon Emma was going stir-crazy. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a million things she could be doing. She just couldn’t settle to anything. Declan had offered to be on call for the weekend so that had left her with more free time than she’d had in months. She’d done a tour of the garden and picked a bunch of winter roses to bring some warmth and friendliness to reception. At least Moira would appreciate her gesture. She doubted Declan would even notice.

  She was back to him again. She still had the feeling of things being not quite right between them. He’d erupted into the practice and into her life and she’d hardly had time to take stock. He hadn’t exactly steamrollered over her but he hadn’t wasted any time in putting his plans into action. But then she’d given him tacit permission, hadn’t she? Because the alternative had been too bleak to contemplate.

  Oh, help. Emma turned her restless gaze towards the kitchen window. It would be dark soon. Suddenly she was beset with a strange unease. She couldn’t begin the first week of their new partnership with so many of her questions unresolved.

&nb
sp; They needed to talk.

  Now she’d decided, she wouldn’t hold back, although her heart was slamming at the thought of what she was about to take on. They’d already exchanged mobile phone numbers. She’d find him about the place somewhere.

  He answered on the fourth ring. ‘O’Malley.’

  ‘Hi—it’s me—Emma.’

  ‘Problem?’

  She took a shallow breath. He wasn’t making this easy. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘Er—no. I’ve just been for a jog.’

  Emma blinked uncertainly. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Pretty good,’ he said, sounding pleased with himself. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I wondered whether we could get together this evening—just sort out a few things before work tomorrow…’

  ‘OK…’ He seemed to be thinking. ‘Want to grab a bite to eat somewhere, then? Or, better still, come to me. I’ve moved into the log cabin at Foley’s farm. Know where it is?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emma’s fingers tightened on the phone. The Foleys lived about a kilometre out of town. ‘I thought it was only a holiday let.’

  ‘I struck a deal with the Foleys. It’s mine for as long as I need it.’

  ‘I see…well, that’s good. About dinner—I’ve made soup. I could bring some over.’

  He curled a low laugh. ‘You’re obviously intent on feeding me. But soup sounds good. I did a shop this morning. I’m sure we’ll find something to go with it.’

  Declan felt a new spring in his step as he threw himself under the shower. How odd that Emma must have been thinking about him just at the same moment he’d been thinking about her…

  Emma was glad he’d found somewhere to live, and the log cabin was a comfortable option for the time being, she thought, guiding the car carefully over the cattle grid that marked the entrance to the farm. The cabin was barely five minutes drive further on and in seconds she saw the lighted windows come into view. As she pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, her heart began its pattering again, the nerves in her stomach lurching and flailing like a drunken butterfly.