‘That hurts?’
He nodded again.
‘Anywhere else?’
He shrugged
She manipulated his wrist and asked him to flex and extend his fingers but couldn’t find evidence of any other injuries.
‘Dad, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but Mum’s right—you need to go to hospital, and you might even need surgery. That wound on your leg is deep, and you’ve almost certainly done some damage to at least one of the small bones in your hand.’
Her father scowled but seemed accepting.
‘Tonight?’ he grumbled.
‘The sooner the better.’
* * *
Tara’s father, not surprisingly, refused her suggestion they call an ambulance. By the time she’d phoned the hospital, organised Rob Whelan—the on-call doctor covering emergencies—to meet them in the small ED of the local community hospital and supervised her father’s transfer from house to car, it was nearly ten o’clock. Graham tried to manage the short walk to Tara’s car unassisted, and even using Jane on one side and a broom on the other as a crutch she could tell he was in a great deal of pain. He’d definitely need a wheelchair when they arrived at Keysdale.
With her father in the back seat, her mother driving and Tara settled in the passenger side they set off.
Tara glanced behind her and noticed her father had his eyes closed but was still grimacing. He’d refused to take anything for the pain, which was just as well as it was likely he’d need surgery—if only to clean and debride his wound. If that was the case he’d need a drip, and analgesia could be given through the vein. Fortunately Rob could do a simple debridement, but if Graham needed more complicated surgery he’d have to be transferred to the regional hospital in Bayfield. She wasn’t looking forward to his reaction, even if his injuries turned out to be minor.
‘Nearly there,’ her mother said, attempting cheerfulness. They turned off Hill Park Road onto the highway heading towards the town.
Her father groaned as they jolted over a pothole.
‘Sorry,’ Jane said. ‘I didn’t see it.’
Graham’s silence was an ominous sign that indicated he either didn’t have the energy or was too focused on his injuries to complain.
They pulled up to the front of the hospital and parked in the area designated for ambulances. Laurie, the night orderly, and Kath, one of the ED nurses, stood waiting with both a gurney and a wheelchair. Graham had obviously noticed.
‘I don’t need those things. I’m quite capable of getting inside under my own steam.’
‘Like you were at home?’ Jane was quick to reply, the strain showing in her voice and on her face.
Graham attempted to move his leg and this time the movement was accompanied by a string of expletives.
Laurie brought the chair next to the car and then glanced at Tara. ‘Is this okay to transport your father, Dr Fielding?’
At that moment Rob Whelan arrived, leaped out of his car and strode towards them. To Tara’s relief, after acknowledging her and her mother’s presence, he took over with an assertiveness that defied protest.
While Graham was carefully moved to the wheelchair without the clamour of expected complaints, Jane brought Tara’s chair from the back of the car and stood by while she transferred. Once Tara was in her chair she noticed her mother had begun to tremble. Reaching out, she gave her hand a squeeze.
‘He’ll be all right, Mum. You know he’s in good hands.’
Jane took a deep breath and her hands steadied.
‘I know that, love.’
‘Why don’t you go inside and I’ll lock up the car?’
‘But—’
‘Just go and be with Dad. He needs you.’
In the five minutes or so it took Tara to make her way inside to the Emergency Room, Graham had been undressed, his grubby clothes replaced by a hospital gown, and Kath was opening a dressing pack. The blood-soaked towel had been replaced by a large sterile pad of gauze, and Rob Whelan was busy inserting an IV. He glanced at Tara.
‘I’ve done a lightning examination, but he needs analgesia and the quickest way is into the vein.’ Then he smiled. ‘But of course I don’t have to tell you that.’
‘No, but I’m sure Mum and Dad would appreciate you explaining things in layman’s terms.’ Tara resisted the temptation to quiz her colleague about the seriousness of her father’s injuries as he’d probably barely had time to take a history and would no doubt do a more thorough examination once the pain had eased.
Jane stood silently on the other side of the couch, looking pale and tired. She’d most likely put up with at least an hour of Graham’s undiluted anger while they waited for Tara to arrive home.
‘Of course.’ But Rob’s conversation was still directed to Tara. ‘I’ve asked Meg to phone the radiographer.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I suspect he’s cracked his tibia and almost certainly has a fractured scaphoid.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And Meg’s also going to see if she can contact Ryan Dennison. He has a short list tomorrow, so I assume he’s still in town.’
‘No! I don’t want that man touching me!’ Graham said in a loud, angry voice.
Four pairs of eyes fixed on him, but Tara’s were the only ones wide with horror at the realisation of how deep her father’s dislike of Ryan was, even after all these years. Rob looked stunned. He had no idea. He’d taken the helm of the practice nearly five years ago, when old Doc Harris retired. Rob was a relative newcomer and had no knowledge of her history with Ryan.
‘Why? You know Dr Dennison?’ Rob said.
Graham scowled.
‘I thought I did.’
Tara felt the heat of her father’s stare as his gaze shifted to her and fixed on her legs.
‘Before he crippled my daughter.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE main reason Ryan couldn’t sleep was because it was so quiet. His city residence, a second-floor apartment in South Perth, was on a busy street, and he hadn’t realised background noise was his default setting. In his restless state of insomnia, his thoughts were only of Tara.
What a determined, courageous woman she was. Despite the limitations imposed by her paraplegia, she’d not let it hold her back and had embraced life with an enthusiasm he admired. But he doubted she had much in the way of positive feelings for him. When he’d asked her if she still believed he’d stopped loving her, she’d been vague and skirted around the issue. Their love had been shattered to pieces in a few seconds in which his reflex response had been the wrong one…and he could never put it right.
But he did still love her.
He flung the quilt off the bed and pulled the sheet up to his waist in an effort to get comfortable enough to entice sleep. It made little difference. In the deathly silence of the outskirts of a country town at eleven on a Friday night he was yearning for at least a little traffic noise.
So it was almost a relief when his mobile phone rang.
‘Ryan Dennison,’ he said, not recognising the number of the caller.
‘Hello, Dr Dennison. It’s Meg Davies, a casualty sister at the hospital. I’m sorry to disturb you so late.’
‘The hospital? I’m sorry, which hospital?’
‘Keysdale.’
‘Oh. What can I do for you?’
It hadn’t been written into his job description that he covered orthopaedic emergencies after hours, but Rob Whelan had negotiated an agreement that he would attend emergency patients during the two or three days a week he visited the town.
‘You’d be lucky to be called out at night more than once a month, and major trauma cases go directly to Bayfield,’ Rob had said jovially while he was filling out the paperwork granting him admitting rights to Keysdale hospital.
Tonight was only his second day working in the town. His so-called operating session the previous day had been an orientation day, where he’d met some of the hospital staff and been shown the facilities; he had no post-operative inpatients. The call was most like
ly an emergency.
He heard the nurse clear her throat and what sounded like raised voices in the background.
‘We have a patient here Dr Whelan was hoping you could come in and see.’
‘Okay, can you fill me in with a brief summary?’
There were more noises in the background, muffled as if the nurse had covered the handpiece of the phone.
‘Dr Fielding wants to talk to you. She’ll be able to explain better than I.’
Tara?
What on earth was she doing at the hospital at this hour of night? He had a fleeting thought that she was the patient, that she’d been injured. He was usually calm in times of crisis but he felt the effects of adrenaline surging through his circulation.
‘Hello, Ryan, it’s Tara.’
Ryan exhaled a breath that had somehow caught in his throat.
‘What’s happened? Why are you at the hospital?’
She hesitated a moment before replying, as if she needed time to formulate what she was about to say. Almost as if she was going to impart bad news.
‘It’s Dad. He had an altercation with Darby, my old pony. Rob’s just got the X-rays back and he has an undisplaced open crack fracture to his right tibia. He also has a scaphoid fracture, and the radiographer says there’s at least two millimetres displacement.’
She sounded understandably anxious, her voice high and staccato.
‘I’ll come straight over. I should be able to get there in about ten minutes.’
‘No, Ryan. There’s a problem. If you could just give some advice over the phone…’
‘A problem? What problem?’
‘Er…Dad’s creating a bit of a fuss. He refuses pointblank to see you.’
Ryan took a moment to take in what Tara had just told him. It made sense. Not only did Graham dislike him, he obviously nursed a deep mistrust of his one-time son-in-law. It was unfortunate that lack of trust extended to include Ryan’s professional skills. But he wasn’t about to let a strong-willed, one-eyed farmer put him off.
‘Like I said, I’ll be there in ten minutes and we can sort Graham’s issues when I get there.’
After he ended the call, without giving Tara time to reply, he felt a little guilty. But he needed to see the X-rays to know if Graham required surgery. If that was the case, the ideal situation would be to put him on the end of his operation list the following day. At worst it would simply mean referral to a surgeon in the nearest regional centre.
He pulled on the jeans and tee shirt he’d been wearing earlier, travelled the two strides to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Finger-combing the spikes from his tousled hair, he grabbed his medical bag, slipped into his shoes and headed out to…He suddenly remembered that his mode of transport, delivered not long after Tara had left, was a battered, noisy work ute lent to him by the mechanic because neither of the two Keysdale vehicle rentals was available until the following day—by which time he’d been assured his own car would be back on the road.
After a clunky gear-change he rumbled off, and ten minutes later was pressing the after-hours buzzer at the entrance to the ED of the hospital.
* * *
‘You stay with Dad,’ Tara said with a weary sigh.
Ryan was busy writing up Graham’s notes and reorganising his theatre list. He’d been a prince of patience and reason, the way he’d calmly explained the different options available to the stubborn farmer. The threat of sending Tara’s father to Bayfield and the possibility of having long-term problems with his hand and wrist if the scaphoid fracture wasn’t fixed promptly had won out. Fortunately Jane’s attitude to Ryan was less hostile, but the seeds of blame and guilt were still embedded in her heart, and Tara knew the relationship her parents had with her ex-husband would never be the same.
‘But—’ Jane croaked in a voice laced with tiredness.
‘No buts, Mum. I’m quite capable of getting into Ryan’s car. He can leave my chair in the car and I’ll use the manual one when we get home. I’ve got a spare key so Ryan can move it away from the ambulance entry.’
Tara’s gaze shifted from Jane to her father, who was snoring softly, no doubt due to the effects of the morphine that was coursing through his veins. If he’d been aware of the arrangements she was making for Ryan to drive her home he’d have blown his stack, but thankfully he was peacefully sleeping.
Her mother looked too tired to protest, but it had been her choice to stay with her husband at least until he was settled in the ward.
‘Oh, all right.’ She suppressed a yawn. But then she was suddenly wide awake, with a panicked look on her face.
‘What, Mum? What’s the matter?’
‘Milking…the herd…I’ll have to come home. The cows aren’t going to wait.’
She began gathering her things.
It took seconds for Tara to realise that the problems the Fielding family were about to face didn’t only involve Graham. And it took her less than a minute to formulate a plan—a plan she would have considered totally out of the question if she hadn’t spent the evening with Ryan. She had a gut feeling he would help without her having to ask him. After all she’d used to know him with an intimacy that was only present in a committed couple who were deeply in love.
She placed her hand on her mother’s trembling arm and felt the tension in Jane’s muscles, strung taut like new fencing wire.
‘Mum.’ Tara’s voice was steady, with a tone she hoped conveyed control. Her mother relaxed only a fraction, and the look of dread in her eyes conveyed more than mere words. ‘Forget about the farm. What do you really want to do?’
Her mother opened her mouth to speak but the words seemed to stick in her throat.
‘I can’t forget about the farm,’ she finally said, withdrawing her arm from Tara’s hold and gathering up her handbag. She fumbled with the zip, and when she finally opened the bag she couldn’t find what she was looking for. It was the last straw. She began sobbing.
Tara leaned across and drew her mother close at the same time as Ryan quietly slipped into the cubicle. He didn’t speak, but his presence was oddly reassuring.
‘I can manage,’ Tara said softly, with a conviction that defied argument.
She paused, waiting for her mother’s response. But Jane said nothing, as if making decisions was too much for her after such a long and stressful day.
Tara glanced briefly at Ryan. ‘And Ryan can help me with the few things I can’t do on my own. It will only be for the morning milking. Tomorrow I’ll be able to organise some local help.’
She heard Ryan catch his breath but he gave nothing away. He didn’t show any signs of surprise, or confusion, or incredulity—the emotions he was probably experiencing as a result of her sudden, unexpected request. It was as if she’d simply asked him to make her a cup of tea. He nodded his agreement.
‘So, what do you really want to do, Mum?’ Tara repeated.
Jane pulled away and took a deep, sighing breath.
‘I want to be with your father.’
‘Right, that’s settled, then. I’ll see you tomorrow—and don’t worry about the milking.’
Tara kissed her mother on the cheek before she reversed out of the cubicle, raising her hand in a wave. Meg was at her desk but she stood when she saw Tara and Ryan.
‘We’re ready to take your father to the ward.’ A look of concern crossed her face. ‘Are you going to be able to manage on your own?’
She wasn’t on her own, though. For better or worse, she’d roped Ryan into the latest Fielding family drama and it was too late to bail out. She needed him. The thought was scary, and strangely exciting at the same time.
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Dr Dennison is going to help out.’
There was no mistaking the meaning behind Meg’s quizzical look and the momentary upward twitch of her eyebrows. Tara suspected several versions of the news of the favour Dr Ryan Dennison was granting her in the small hours of Saturday morning would be all over town by the end of the wee
kend.
But there was nothing she could do to stop it.
* * *
Ryan wasn’t sure what he’d let himself in for when he’d agreed to Tara’s request to take her back to the farm and help with the milking. If she’d asked him to speak at a conference, or organise a meeting with the local politician, or even charm his way into a late booking at his favourite waterside restaurant in the city, he’d be in his element. He’d been raised in the Big Smoke and knew the drill.
He didn’t actually hate the country…or farming…or getting dirt and sweat on his freshly laundered clothes. He thought of his attitude as being more like a fear of the unknown. In fact he could use exactly the same phrase to describe his feelings towards Tara at the moment.
Fear?
He couldn’t get rid of the anxiety niggling at the edge of his usual calm demeanour—and, yes, he was a little frightened of being alone for the rest of the night with Tara. It was all to do with the fact he’d used to know this woman intimately. And earlier tonight she’d been frank with him to the point where she had come close to opening her heart.
He needed time to think through his next move with her. She wasn’t a stranger, but he had to get to know this new Tara Fielding all over again. He had the feeling it would take more than charm for Tara to allow him into her present-day world. And he wanted to do it when she was ready.
They made their way to the ute.
‘Sorry about the transport. It was all Keysdale had to offer at short notice.’ Ryan doubted she’d complain. She’d been raised on a working farm after all.
‘No problem.’ She stopped on the passenger side, waiting for him to open the door.
‘Once I’m in, you’ll remember how to strap my chair onto the hoist and park it in my car, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m pretty sure I can manage.’
She held out a bunch of keys, singling out the car key. ‘And if you wouldn’t mind shifting the car into the car park. The hand controls don’t interfere with using the floor pedals. You just drive it like a normal car.’
‘Oh, okay.’
He seemed to be learning new things about Tara and her lifestyle at a rate of knots that he was battling to keep up with. He wondered how she had learned to cope all those years ago, when she’d been so resistant to his many offers of help. Back then he’d not had the strength to stand firm. He’d been a prisoner in his own guilt-ridden anguish and had succumbed to Tara’s wishes without more than a token protest. Now he wished he’d been more persistent. Trying to contact her without being confrontational by phone and e-mail in the first couple of years after the divorce hadn’t been enough. He should have put aside his fear of having to deal with Graham’s and Jane’s anger as well as another rejection from Tara and forced her to talk to him. Doubts surfaced. He wondered if it was too late to start all over again? But his circumstances were different—he had a child to cope with now.
The Doctor, His Daughter and Me Page 6