The Doctor’s Rescue Mission

by Marion Lennox

  Love.

  ‘Morag…’

  There it was again. The way he said her name. It had the capacity to shift her off her bearings. It had the capacity to…

  To weaken?

  For suddenly she felt herself being drawn into him. Against her better judgement-against any sort of judgement-she was allowing those big, capable hands to pull her against him. Her breasts were pressing against the strength of him. His hand was cupping her chin and tilting her face.

  And then…

  He smiled down at her, a rueful, searching smile that asked more questions than it answered. And she couldn’t reply. How could she reply as his mouth lowered onto hers?

  She could drown in this kiss.

  Four long years…

  She’d thought she was over it. No. No, she’d never thought she was over it, she thought desperately, but she’d pushed away the feel of him. The scent of him. The pure animal magnetism…

  Her love for this man was so real. It was an aching need that had had her crying out in her sleep for the first twelve months of her stay on the island. Her dreams of her dead sister had been crazily mixed with her need for this man.

  Loss. She’d lost so much. Her loss was real and dreadful, and the sudden lessening of it, the sudden glimmer of hope that her loss wasn’t irrevocable, had her responding now as if her body had known all along that this was her rightful place.

  This was her home. This man was her man, and the only place in the world that she could ever be at peace was right here.

  Within the arms of the man she truly loved.

  So for one long moment she melted into his kiss. For one glorious moment she let herself surrender to the promise of his body. To the feel of his hands, pulling her into him. To the feeling that here in his arms anything was possible. With Grady beside her, she could take on the world. Save her island. Find Hamish safe and well. Care for the Kooris.

  With Grady she could do anything. She could fly!

  Above her head the light from the lighthouse shimmered on, automatically powered to light up with the gathering dusk. The flash of light across her face was hardly enough to haul her back from insanity-it didn’t-but it was enough to make her catch a trace of reason. To haul back. To gasp and push back with both hands. To stand and stare with eyes that were wild with want and hope and aching, tearing need.

  And above all…despair?

  ‘Grady, don’t…’

  ‘You want-’ he started in a voice that was far from steady.

  ‘What I want doesn’t come into it,’ she whispered. ‘This is crazy. A tidal wave washes away the foundations of my community and you’re saying I should leave them? I can’t. Grady, don’t ask me.’

  ‘Morag-’

  ‘Leave it,’ she said, roughly and despairingly. ‘Go back from where you came, Grady. You’re needed in a crisis. Medical emergencies. But what I do… I don’t do emergencies, Grady. I do for ever.’

  She stared at him for one long moment, as though taking in everything she could about him. One long, last look…

  ‘I need to go home,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Grady. I have to go back to Robbie.’

  And before he could say another word she’d turned and fled, back to where the track started its winding way up toward Hubert’s cottage.

  Back to the community where she belonged.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GRADY walked back to the hospital and met Jaqui about to organise a search party. He’d turned his radio off during the conversation with William and hadn’t turned it on again-a transgression that had every member of their team concerned. Briefly he outlined what had happened, but halfway through she interrupted.

  ‘You mean he jumped?’

  ‘No.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you look like something dreadful’s happened.’

  ‘It hasn’t.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Morag wouldn’t let him jump. She’s better than any psychiatrist.’

  ‘She’s a damned fine doctor,’ Jaqui told him. ‘The islanders think the world of her.’ She hesitated, and eyed him sideways. He knew she could see there was still something badly askew in his world-but she didn’t press further.

  ‘The reason we were trying to find you was that the politicians want to fly in tomorrow for a public announcement.’

  ‘That the island’s to be evacuated?’

  ‘You helped Doug make his report.’

  ‘I did,’ he said heavily.

  ‘There’s health risks in not doing it fast,’ Jaqui told him. ‘You know it. The water source is contaminated. If we’re not careful we could have a great little epidemic of typhoid. Just what we all need-I don’t think.’

  ‘If we could get the resources-’

  ‘They aren’t available.’ She hesitated, and gave him that questioning look again. And obviously decided to push it. ‘And, besides, this way you’ll get your girl.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean you’re nuts on your Dr Morag,’ she told him bluntly. ‘Any fool can see that. If the island’s evacuated, it means she’ll have to leave, too.’

  ‘She won’t have to do anything.’

  ‘Is that what you were doing?’ Jaqui asked slowly. ‘Is that why you look like you do? Because you were asking?’

  ‘Jaqui…’

  ‘Just enquiring,’ she said thoughtfully, throwing her hands up in defence. ‘OK, moving right on…’ She gave him a grin that contained real affection. ‘Do you have time to assist in removing an appendix?’

  ‘An appendix?’ He stared.

  ‘You wouldn’t read about it.’ Her grin widened. ‘After all we’ve gone through. Mary Garidon is fifteen years old, and she’s been clutching her stomach since the wave hit. Her parents assumed it was stress and maybe I’d have agreed with them if I’d seen her earlier. But her mum came in to get the haematoma on her thigh checked. She was caught by the end of the wave. Anyway, Mary was waiting with her father, and her dad was telling her to pull herself together. But she looked sweaty and was clutching her stomach so I checked. She’s got rebound, Grady.’

  ‘Rebound…’ He stared. ‘You mean the appendix has ruptured?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like. I think we should go in now. Can you help?’

  ‘Of course.’ If the appendix really had burst, the time taken to evacuate her to Sydney could well mean the infection would be much worse.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be back,’ she confessed. ‘You’ve got the best fingers I know.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘You don’t want to call Morag? She’s Morag’s patient.’

  ‘The whole island is Morag’s patient,’ Grady growled. ‘Everyone needs her.’

  ‘Including you?’

  ‘Butt out, Ford.’

  She grinned. ‘When have I ever? But we don’t contact Morag?’

  ‘She’s had a hell of a day. She’s just talked someone out of jumping, and her kid must be going nuts without her. Let her be.’

  ‘There’s a real load on her shoulders,’ Jaqui said seriously. ‘Do you think she’ll be happier without it?’

  ‘When it’s hauled out from under her?’ Grady grimaced. ‘No.’

  ‘Even with you?’

  ‘I said butt out. Her future’s none of our concern.’

  But as they scrubbed and prepared the teenager for surgery-as Grady reassured the frightened parents and promised them Morag would come if there was the slightest hint of trouble-as he performed the procedure with his trained anaesthetist and his two trained nursing staff and thought how Morag would have had to do this alone-somehow-if he and his team hadn’t been here-he thought, How could her future be none of his concern?

  He was going to worry about her for ever.

  Morag made her way slowly up the scree. She flicked her radio transmitter back on to check in with Jaqui, who briefly outlined what was happening to Mary.

  ‘Do you want me to come?’ Morag had paused at a bend in the trac
k and was involuntarily turning.

  ‘We’re fine. Two doctors, two nurses, one appendix. We have it under control.’ There was a moment’s hesitation and then Jaqui asked, ‘How do you cope with something like this when you’re on your own?’

  ‘I talk one of the nurses through the anaesthetic,’ she told her. ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘It’s real bush medicine.’

  ‘It’s better than no medicine at all.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’ Jaqui asked curiously.

  Morag hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, I do. To go back to ordinary medicine…’

  ‘Like our Dr Reece stopping swinging on rescue harnesses.’ Jaqui chuckled. ‘A life lived on the edge. You two suit so well.’

  ‘We don’t,’ Morag said quietly, and clicked off the receiver before she could hear Jaqui’s next comment.

  We don’t.

  Robbie would be desperate for her.

  The little boy had been so good. To ask a nine-year-old to stay calmly up at Hubert’s cottage while there was so much going on below-and when there was still no word of Hamish-must have been unbearable. She’d radioed him constantly during the day and each time his voice had sounded more and more strained.

  ‘When will you come? Where’s Hamish? Can’t I come down?’

  He and Hubert had done a wonderful job. The media circus was confined to the hills and she’d heard indirectly that Robbie had given the same interview over and over.

  ‘The old man gives a nice artistic embellishment or two,’ one of the reporters for the national broadcaster had told her when she’d finally agreed to a fast telephone link. ‘But the kid…he’s amazing. He’ll be on the national news tonight.’

  And he wouldn’t be able to watch it, Morag thought ruefully. If she’d had time, maybe she could have phoned her mother on the mainland and had Barbara tape it for her.

  Her mother… She hadn’t heard from her mother, she thought bleakly. Would Barbara even know there’d been a tidal wave on Petrel Island?

  Would Barbara care?

  She trudged on upward. Once upon a time she’d thought she could lead the sort of life her mother led, where career and appearance were everything. She’d changed so much. She’d changed and Grady had stayed the same.

  But she loved him…

  She couldn’t think of Grady. The moon wasn’t yet over the horizon and it was deeply dark. She needed to concentrate on her footing.

  The candle wasn’t in Hubert’s window.

  Frowning, she quickened her steps, and suddenly a wavering flashlight appeared from the cottage door. The beam circled wildly and found her. It was a cameraman, his bulky equipment draped round his neck. There were a score of reporters and cameramen camped out near the helicopter landing pad. What was this man doing here?

  Why wasn’t the candle lit?

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, more sharply than she’d intended, and he blinked as if he was trying to adjust to reality.

  ‘Dave Barnes. National Reporting.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He peered at her, trying to see in the light from the flash, and she hauled her backpack from her shoulders and found her own torch.

  ‘I’m Dr Lacy,’ she told him. ‘Morag Lacy. Where’s my nephew?’

  ‘You’re a doctor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He grabbed her arm and practically hauled her into the cottage. ‘We’re camped behind the ridge but the old man said earlier that we could take a shower here if we wanted. I came down and the old guy and the kid were arguing. I went for a walk along the ridge to catch the last of the sunset, and when I came back he was like this.’

  Like what? Who? But Morag was inside the cottage and through to the bedroom, and what she saw made her stop in dismay. ‘Hubert!’

  ‘I found him on the floor and for a minute I didn’t think he was breathing,’ Dave told her. ‘I was just thinking I’d have to do CPR and then he groaned. Hell, I was glad to hear it. I’ve got him on the bed but he looks awful.’

  He did. Hubert’s gaunt face was staring up in terror as he clutched his left arm. He was sweating profusely. Morag placed her fingers on the pulse in his neck, and his skin was cold to the touch.

  At least she had equipment. Morag’s doctor’s bag was huge. Vast. It was twice the size of most doctor’s bags but it hardly ever left her back and she had never been more glad of it than she was now.

  ‘It’s…it’s a heart attack?’ Hubert whispered. Behind them the cameraman was doing his best to hold the flashlight steady, but his hands were shaking. The beam was erratic, a wavering and eerie light across the bed of the sick man.

  ‘Maybe it is.’ She undid Hubert’s shirt and placed her stethoscope on the old man’s chest. His heartbeat was reasonably stable, she decided thankfully, though every four or five beats were slightly irregular-maybe ectopic? She hauled more equipment out of her bag, searching for aspirin. ‘Put the flashlight on the dresser,’ she told the cameraman. ‘See if you can aim it so it’s pointing at this arm. I need a glass of water. And there are candles somewhere in the kitchen.’

  ‘First cupboard on the left,’ Hubert quavered. ‘And matches. I was just about to light them when…when…’

  ‘Hush,’ she told him. But this was good. If he had the strength to think about candles…

  ‘Hell, it hurts,’ he whispered, and reached out and clutched her arm. ‘It hurts to breathe. Morag, I don’t…I don’t want to die. Not yet.’

  ‘How about that?’

  She even smiled as she adjusted the blood-pressure cuff and then had to force herself to stay smiling as the results told her that dying was a possibility. Eighty on fifty. There was definitely something nasty going on.

  The cameraman returned with a large glass of water. She tipped three quarters of it out the open window and broke her soluble aspirin into what was left, swirled the water until the aspirin had dissolved and then held Hubert so he could swallow.

  ‘Let’s get it into you,’ she told him. ‘If you really don’t want to shuffle off this mortal coil, drink this.’

  ‘What is it?’ He peered into the glass in deep suspicion.

  ‘Really high-tech medicine. Otherwise known as aspirin. It acts as an anticoagulant, letting the blood flow a bit more easily. Maybe there’s a slight blockage…’

  ‘Slight? How can this be slight?’ He sounded affronted and she smiled again.

  ‘If it wasn’t slight, you’d be dead.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ He grimaced but his lips managed to twitch. ‘That’s a real comfort.’

  ‘I’ll give you something for the pain.’ Five milligrams, she decided, and then looked at the sheen of sweat on his forehead and thought, No, he was cracking hardy. Seven.

  Behind her, the cameraman was setting up candles, working quietly and efficiently. His hands appeared to have steadied and Morag blessed him for it. You never knew with onlookers. Sometimes you got calm, intelligent help, as this man was providing, and sometimes you got panic. She’d learned early not to expect anything of anyone. A flighty teenager might be far more help than her sensible middle-aged father.

  ‘Will I live?’ Hubert faltered, and she rested her fingers on his pulse again.

  ‘You’ve lived through a darned sight more than a mild heart attack,’ she told him. ‘But I need a cardiograph to tell any more than we already know. Hubert, we’re going to have to take you to the pavilion.’

  ‘To that makeshift hospital you’ve set up?’

  ‘Yes. We have everything there we need.’

  She even had Grady.

  ‘I can’t be sick. There’s the public meeting tomorrow about the fate of the island,’ he said fretfully. ‘I gotta be there for that.’

  ‘Let’s just concentrate on tonight,’ she said softly. ‘For the moment, more than anything else you need to relax. Please. There are others who will worry about the island for you.’

  ‘You’ll fight for it?’
>
  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘But Robbie…’ His eyes widened, as if remembering something the pain and the shock had driven from his mind. ‘I forgot Robbie. Hell, Morag, I shoulda been taking care of him. I need to…’ He struggled to rise but she pressed him back.

  ‘No. You’re not to fret about Robbie. I’ll take over his care now.’ She bit her lip. Where was he? ‘I’ve left him alone too long,’ she said softly. ‘He’s been so good. But, Hubert, you’ve been wonderful, too. Now it’s time to hand over the care to others.’

  She passed her radio to the cameraman behind her. ‘This is set to contact the medical team at the pavilion,’ she told him. ‘The hospital’s commandeered about the only two workable vehicles on the island and I need one. Tell them we need transport to take Hubert down to the hospital. Tell them it’s a suspected coronary.’

  ‘Can do.’ The man backed into the kitchen, obviously grateful for the chance to escape from the sickroom.

  ‘I need to tell you about Robbie,’ Hubert whispered, but there was a weariness in his voice that told Morag he was past worrying about anything but the beating of his own heart.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Robbie had been here a few minutes ago, Morag thought. The cameraman had seen him arguing with Hubert. If he’d seen Hubert collapse, he’d be dreadfully upset. Maybe he’d run to try and find her.

  Damn, she couldn’t do anything about Robbie. Not now. Not yet. The medical imperative…

  She had to get Hubert stabilised. Hubert’s life was under threat and the fact that her small nephew was distraught couldn’t be allowed to interfere. But it hurt.

  Grady. She needed Grady-now!

  But she also needed to concentrate. Somehow Morag worked on, adjusting drips, monitoring, waiting. Often pain like this was a precursor to a main event. The aspirin would help-maybe.

  Please…

  Not another death, she found herself begging. Not Hubert. OK, he was ninety-two, but she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet.

  And if Robbie thought he was somehow responsible… For him to carry that on his shoulders…

  No!

  Finally, with the drip steady and the old man drifting toward sleep as the morphine took hold, she was able to focus on something other than imperative need. She stepped back into the kitchen and found the cameraman putting down her radio. ‘Dr Reece is busy,’ he told her. ‘Apparently there’s been an emergency appendicectomy. But they’re sending a truck.’