Desert King, Doctor Daddy

by Meredith Webber

  Yusef was issuing orders, but in a language Gemma didn’t understand. The staff people who had gathered, three of them now, rushed off to do his bidding.

  ‘The plane is used to transport ill people from time to time so we have a good selection of medical equipment on board,’ he explained to Gemma. ‘We can give him oxygen, hook him up to an ECG monitor, relieve his pain and stabilise him.’

  And even as he spoke staff members returned with equipment, including, Gemma was pleased to see, a defibrillator in case the man collapsed again.

  ‘Will you turn back?’ she asked, as Yusef fitted an oxygen mask to the patient’s face and adjusted the flow.

  ‘That depends on you,’ he said, looking up so his dark eyes focussed on her face with a peculiar intensity.

  She hid a tremor of reaction—this man did intensity far too well…

  ‘On me?’

  ‘On whether you are willing to watch him if we fly on to Fajabal. I know he would prefer to be hospitalised at home, close to his family and friends, and in a place where he understands the language, but I can’t leave the copilot to do all the flying.’

  He hesitated then smiled at her.

  ‘I’m a good pilot,’ he added, but it was the smile, not the reassurance, that decided Gemma. She knew instinctively that if they turned back now, she wouldn’t go to Fajabal, wouldn’t see the mountains of the dawn, wouldn’t feel the heat of the desert sands or smell the perfume of the rose gardens.

  Wouldn’t see Yusef smile again…

  ‘Of course I’ll watch him,’ she heard herself say as Yusef, one hundred per cent of his attention back on his patient, passed her the blood-pressure monitor then, assuming she would take over that task, went ahead and attached the ECG monitor leads to Massa’s chest.

  With Yusef on one side of the patient, getting close on the other side involved climbing up onto the big bed. Gemma managed it, but it was awkward—not unlike treating a patient on the floor, she reminded herself.

  One of the staff handed Gemma a notebook and she jotted down the time and Massa’s blood pressure, then checked his pulse and noted that as well. The ECG leads in place and the monitor set up, Yusef was now inserting a catheter into Massa’s forearm to provide IV access.

  ‘I’ll use morphine rather than nitrates to relieve the pain in case the nitrates cause hypotension. The fewer complications the better.’

  Gemma suspected Yusef was talking more to himself than to her, especially when he rummaged through a case of drugs, muttering, ‘Antiemetic, there must be an antiemetic here.’

  Eventually he had all he wanted and had set up a drip, titrating the pain relief and antiemetic into the fluid that was entering Massa’s vein. He took the notebook from Gemma, who was still perched on the far side of the bed, and wrote in the dosages and time, then frowned at her.

  ‘Are you happy with this?’

  He looked so concerned she had to smile.

  ‘Not exactly happy to see a man in pain, but I’m confident I can take care of him while you fly the plane, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  He nodded, accepting her reply.

  ‘One of the staff will be with you at all times, so send for me if you need me. I don’t need to be in the cockpit all the time so I will return to relieve you from time to time.’

  He spoke stiffly, and she realised that it was difficult for such a confident, self-sufficient man to have to rely on someone else—or maybe not so much rely, because he had staff on whom he must rely, but to ask a favour of someone.

  Especially a woman?

  She didn’t know him well enough to guess, so she assured him she’d take good care of Massa. Yet still Yusef hesitated, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to read something there.

  ‘Go,’ she said, disconcerted by his gaze, disconcerted because her own gaze snagged on his lips and she was remembering the effect they’d had on her—remembering the kiss…

  The morphine had made Massa sleepy, so there was little for Gemma to do except check the monitor from time to time and make sure the fluid was flowing into a vein, not into subcutaneous tissue. Movement could sometimes dislodge the catheter, but Massa’s arm showed no sign of the tell-tale swelling.

  Gemma looked around the suite, marvelling that such a luxurious bedroom could exist on an aircraft.

  Aircraft!

  She was still on a plane!

  The panic threatened to return but she held it back, fussing over Massa, removing his shoes and socks, then his trousers so he was lying in his underwear on the bed. Now she could cover him. She moved around the bed as easily as she would in the centre back at home, and although it had been years since she’d dealt with a heart-attack patient, her training reasserted itself and she took regular readings of his pulse and blood pressure, jotting them down in the notebook, checking the figures against the previous ones to reassure herself he was more comfortable now than he had been when they had first moved him.

  The problem was furniture, or the lack of it. Obviously, being on a plane, all furniture had to be fixed so there were no chairs she could pull over beside the bed to sit on. The staff member Yusef had left with her had solved the problem by sitting on the floor on the far side of the big room, but if she sat on the floor she couldn’t see Massa on the bed.

  The only solution was to perch on the bed itself—it was certainly big enough for the patient and any number of caregivers, but not particularly comfortable to be sitting without a back-rest.

  ‘The plane is on autopilot and the copilot is over the shock of Massa’s collapse and happy to be in charge so I can sit with him while you rest.’

  Yusef had entered quietly so his voice startled Gemma, who was reading the printout from the ECG monitor, tracing the waves that also showed Massa’s heart had returned to a normal rhythm.

  ‘I don’t need to rest,’ she replied. ‘It’s not as if I’m doing anything taxing. If anyone should rest, it’s you.’

  ‘I will rest when we are all safely home,’ he said, looking down at Massa then walking around the big bed to sit on the edge of it, right beside Gemma. He picked up the notebook and read through her notes.

  ‘He is well so we are left with you,’ Yusef said, and Gemma, already disconcerted by his closeness, turned to frown at him.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Your fear of flying. You will tell me?’

  A question yet at the same time a command, and whether it was because he was a virtual stranger, or because of the bizarre circumstances in which she found herself, all at once Gemma felt she could talk about that far-off time.

  So she did, spilling out the story of her father’s delight in flying, of his pride in his small plane, repeating the stories Grandfather’s housekeeper had told her, the housekeeper reluctant but persuaded by a persistent small girl.

  ‘My grandfather had forbidden her to talk to me about my parents and in particular of the accident that had killed them both, but I had to find out some time.’

  ‘Was he protecting you?’ Yusef asked, and Gemma smiled, although she knew there was no humour in her expression.

  ‘I’d like to think he thought he was, for that would mean he cared, but I doubt that was his reasoning. He was a man who believed one should never look back. One went on regardless of the past—stoic and uncomplaining—although it’s a little hard for a two-year-old to be stoic.’

  ‘You were two years old?’ Yusef queried, and his arms went around her, clasping her against his body as if to protect her from the hurt of her childhood.

  She nodded against his chest.

  ‘I really don’t remember anything about the actual crash. All I know is that it took a day for someone to find the wreckage and me inside it, and because I don’t remember it’s ridiculous I should be so terrified of flying.’

  ‘Ridiculous?’ Yusef echoed, his voice rasping out the word as her story had elicited such emotion in him his throat was tight. ‘You’re a doctor, you know there would be memories. Some psychiatrists ev
en claim we can remember being in the womb, but at two there would have been memories. Yet you let yourself be persuaded to come to Fajabal, knowing you’d have to put yourself through such torture?’

  ‘I had to get over it some time,’ she muttered. ‘And the challenge of what you hope to accomplish in Fajabal seemed so exciting.’

  ‘Exciting enough to go through what you obviously went through on take-off?’ He didn’t know why he was persisting—surely not to convince himself that her response to his kiss had been more than fear-generated?

  ‘Exciting enough for me to think maybe the fear was all in my mind, and maybe I would take to flying like a duck to water.’

  He knew she hadn’t for she’d shivered as she’d spoken, and he drew her close again, his hands comforting her now, although comfort was only a breath away from excitement.

  Had she felt it too, that she pushed away, distancing herself, although distance was difficult when they were sharing half a bed.

  ‘If you really want to sit with him, I could go back to my seat,’ she said, and though the words were brave he saw the colour seep from her skin, leaving the scattering of golden freckles standing out like a rash. Was the thought of moving about on the plane so terrifying?

  He could not imagine such fear.

  ‘No, stay here, but prop yourself up on the bed so you are comfortable,’ he suggested, then he piled pillows against the bedhead to make a back-rest for her. ‘I’m sure Massa won’t mind sharing the bed with a beautiful woman, even if she is only nursing him.’

  That made her smile and shake her head, denying his compliment, but the colour had returned to her face and she had relaxed again. Or relaxed as much as she could, given her terror. She moved onto the bed, resting against the pillows, and his body stirred to see her there. He had to get away—it was bad enough that kissing her had confirmed the attraction he felt towards her, but for his body to be seeing her on the bed and thinking—

  ‘I will send someone in with something for you to eat, and check again on you both shortly.’

  Practicality, that was the way to handle it!

  Gemma watched him disappear through the blue curtains, and steadfastly denied that the hollow feeling in her belly could be loss. It was because the fear still lurked like dark shadows in the corners of her mind that she minded his departure. At least when he was close she could forget it. But now she considered the fear she realised it wasn’t the nail-biting, hand-clenching terror it had been. Somehow it seemed stupid to be afraid of flying when she was sitting up on snowy white silk sheets in a huge, many-pillowed bed.

  Beside a patient! she reminded herself, and turned her attention to Massa. He was sleeping now, his skin less sweaty than it had been earlier, his colour better. Gemma brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, wondering if he had a wife and children at home. Would Yusef have contacted them? Would they be worrying?

  What would it be like to have someone to worry over her?

  She was berating herself for her foolish thoughts when the curtains moved again and, expecting a staff person, Gemma knew she smiled far too brightly when Yusef himself reappeared, bearing a tray which the staff member on the floor hurried to take from him.

  Yusef spoke to him in his own language and the man departed, although it was obvious from his expression he disapproved of Yusef carrying trays of food.

  ‘Not a job for a highness?’ Gemma teased, to cover the delight her body felt at his return.

  ‘Enough of the highness,’ he growled, setting the tray down on the small table on her side of the bed.

  Just as sandwiches formed the mainstay of hurriedly grabbed hospital meals, it seemed the little nibbly things on the tray served a similar purpose. The tiny grain balls Gemma had tasted at the hotel filled one dish, little pastries another, tiny tomatoes stuffed with cheese, a spread of small delights carefully prepared and presented to tempt the most demanding of appetites.

  Yusef settled on the bed beside her, pointing out the different dishes, choosing from among them and offering them to her, one by one, so she ate like an obedient child, fear held at bay by his presence but a new fear building now—a fear of the excitement this sensuous enjoyment of food was firing in her body.

  Who was she kidding?

  It was Yusef’s closeness firing the excitement. It was attraction, and attraction had let her down once before. Surely she wasn’t going to fall for it again!

  ‘You were worrying about Massa when I came in?’ he asked as they both ate.

  She shrugged, then answered him.

  ‘I was wondering if there was someone worrying about him at home,’ she admitted, then because this was such a strange situation she found herself expanding on it. ‘Actually, I was wondering what it would be like to have someone worrying about me.’

  ‘You’ve never had such a person?

  Disbelief radiated from the man.

  ‘Not really, not someone who actually cared,’ she said, defiant now because she didn’t want to sound totally pathetic.

  But she must have for he touched her cheek, a gentle forefinger tracing the lines smiles had carved beside her lips.

  ‘So who brought you up?’

  He asked the question as she lifted a glass of chilled pomegranate juice to her lips and the glass hovered in mid-air while she wondered whether she could avoid answering him.

  He took the glass from her nerveless fingers and set it down on the table. Raised his eyebrows to silently repeat the question.

  ‘My grandfather,’ she said, hoping she’d conveyed by the coldness of her words that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘You didn’t love him?’

  Gemma squeezed her eyes tightly closed, hoping to banish images of Grandfather as she always remembered him, a tall rangy man with a loud voice, forever coming up with new lists of rules she was expected to obey. Was it any wonder she’d fallen for the first man who had really showed an interest in her, who had listened to her, who had seemed kind?

  She tucked the image of Paul away with that of Grandfather in the far recesses of her mind.

  ‘To be fair to him,’ she said quietly, ‘it must have been appallingly difficult to be landed with a small child to bring up, and a girl at that. He could have just handed me over to his housekeeper, Mrs Rowan, and ignored me, and that might have worked out well, but he was big on duty was Grandfather, and he saw it as his duty to instil in me all the beliefs he held dear. He’d been in the army and ran the house like an army barracks but little girls forget they aren’t allowed to run on the steps, or speak unless they’re spoken to—little girls need love…’

  There was so much sadness in her voice Yusef set aside the tray of food and took her in his arms again, holding her close and murmuring words he knew she wouldn’t understand but hoping that the sound of them would soothe and comfort her.

  When comfort turned to something stronger he couldn’t say, desire rising in them both until Gemma pushed herself away.

  ‘I don’t need kisses out of pity,’ she said, speaking more curtly than she’d intended because the kisses had aroused so much unwanted emotion in her.

  He touched her face.

  ‘I think you know it’s more than pity. There is an attraction between us. You feel it too or you would not respond as you do. But…’

  His voice trailed away although his fingers continued to caress her cheek, her chin, while his eyes looked deeply into hers.

  ‘But it is impossible to pursue, my golden beauty, for all that I might long to go where it might lead. My country, as I have told you, is unsettled, there are divisions between the people. I cannot put it more at risk of upheaval by—’

  ‘By having an affair with a foreigner?’ Gemma asked, drawing back from him—feeling rebuffed, although she’d been telling herself to resist the attraction from the moment she’d met him, telling herself to resist it because she knew where attraction led!

  Pain and disaster, that’s where.

  He didn’t ans
wer immediately, but when he did it shocked her.

  ‘I was going to say, by marrying a foreigner,’ he said, and she could only shake her head.

  ‘You can’t marry every woman to whom you are attracted,’ she protested, and he gave a slight smile.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking marriage with all of them,’ he said, then he brushed his lips across her once again.

  ‘Very professional behaviour in the sickroom, I don’t think!’ she said, chiding him—and herself—and determined to get the conversation back onto solid ground. ‘But now we’ve put attraction to bed as a conversation, what about your story? What was your childhood like?’

  She’d moved, putting just enough distance between them on the bed for their bodies not to be touching, but Yusef was more aware of her than he’d ever been of any other woman. It had to be more than the magic colour of her hair and the golden freckles—there was more to attraction than physical attributes.

  Which made him taking her to Fajabal nothing short of madness. There was enough tension in his country and enough unrest about his succession without him complicating matters with an attraction to a foreigner. As he had just told her, nothing could come of a relationship between them, no matter how strong the attraction.

  ‘Your childhood?’ she repeated and he realised that talking—about anything—was better than brooding over attraction.

  ‘My mother left my father after I was born,’ he began.

  He caught the frown before she repeated, ‘Left your father?’

  ‘Of course,’ Yusef replied. ‘I realise outsiders have some strange ideas about our culture but divorce is possible in our land and actually far easier than it is in some other countries. My mother, for whatever reason, decided to leave—’

  ‘Taking you with her, I hope?’

  Yusef smiled at the vehemence in her voice and understood it. As a motherless child herself she’d be a passionate advocate for mothers.

  ‘No, that was never an option. I was my father’s son, but that was not really a problem because, as I told you before, I had a wet nurse and, growing up, well, our lives are different. Until I was eleven I grew up with all the other children—children of my father’s other wives, adopted children and family children who just somehow come to live in the women’s house. It is not a bad upbringing for young children. We were as carefree as puppies from different litters, tumbling over ourselves in play, hugged when hurt by whatever woman was closest at the time, a maid, an aunt, a grandmother.’