Fiona Lowe - The Doctor Claims His Bride

Flynn shot out of his chair, reaching the corridor at the same moment as Mia. He instantly recognised Walter, one of the talented wood carvers on the island. ‘What’s happened?

‘What’s wrong?’

Walter gripped the railing on the wall, panting hard. ‘Jimmy, he’s in the ute. He’s hurt pretty bad.’

‘I’ll get the trolley.’ Mia quickly disappeared into the treatment room.

Flynn picked up the emergency kit. ‘Let’s go.’ He pushed open the door and ran, the heat of the late afternoon hitting him hard after the cool air of the clinic.

A twelve-year-old boy lay very still on his side in the back of a truck, the whites of his eyes wide with fear and a spear protruding from his back.

Flynn flinched at the unusual sight, immediately calculating possible internal damage. ‘Thank goodness you left the spear in place, Walter.’

The man ran his hands through his tight, curly hair. ‘Them boys were practising. I went to burn off, I was gone a few minutes and…’A long breath shuddered out of him as words failed him.

Flynn squeezed the father’s shoulder. The rattle of the trolley wheels against the ramp sounded behind him, along with Mia’s gasp as she stopped next to him.

This emergency would give him a chance to see Mia in action, and firm up what he already knew. Mia was cut from the same cloth as every RAN—a sole practitioner who had trouble working as part of a team. He’d worked with most types and sometimes it was easy and sometimes it was a hard slog. Based on how she’d bumped him from driving the truck, it would probably be a hard slog.

She cleared her throat. ‘Right, we need to cut the spear down closer to the entry point before we move him. We don’t want to cause any more damage than has already been done.’ She spoke firmly, as her sound practice broke through her initial shock. She looked straight at Flynn. ‘We need a saw.’

Flynn swallowed a sigh. She’d immediately taken charge, directing the play despite the fact she was working with a doctor. Situation normal. It looked like the power struggle had started already. ‘Walter, we need to cut the spear. Can you get a saw or some strong secateurs?’

‘I’ll get them from the shed.’ The anxious father ran around the building to the bush medicine garden, which was an important part of tying in indigenous medicine with modern.

‘There’s packing gauze in the kit to steady around the puncture site.’ Flynn handed Mia the large box, expecting her to counter his request with a suggestion of her own.

‘Right, will do.’ She eagerly accepted the box and pulled on a pair of gloves.

Her unexpected compliance startled him but there was no time to second-guess her. He needed to concentrate on Jimmy. He crawled into the back of the ute, the ribbed metal hard against his knees. ‘Hey, mate, you weren’t supposed to be the target in practice. How are you feeling?’ His fingers immediately rested on the young boy’s neck, feeling for his carotid pulse.

Jimmy bit his lip, trying hard to be stoic. ‘It hurts heaps.’

Flynn nodded in understanding as he silently counted Jimmy’s pulse. Rapid but firm. Perhaps the spear had missed vital organs? But most of him knew that was probably wishful thinking.

Metal pinged as Mia scrambled onto the tray, hauling the emergency kit with her. ‘Hi, Jimmy, I’m Mia and I’m going to have to touch the area around the spear but I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

She smiled at their patient and for the first time since Flynn had met her, her face lost its tension and her eyes shed their shadows.

It changed her completely. Unexpected heat charged through him and he had a momentary vision of her standing on a beach with her long hair trailing out behind her and her face lifted up to the breeze—with not a care in the world.

What the — ? Where on earth had that thought come from? He shoved the image aside and reminded himself that she was the island nurse, pure and simple.

Mia deftly wrapped the gauze around the puncture site with gentle care. ‘You’re being very brave, Jimmy.’

Jimmy fixed his eyes on her face, hanging onto her murmured words like a lifeline.

Flynn didn’t blame him. There was something about her that could keep a bloke mesmerised, but not him. He reminded himself of his cast-iron immunity, the one that Brooke had activated.

‘Flynn, I got a bush saw.’ Walter ran up holding a bright orange-handled saw.

‘Thanks, Walter, excellent work.’ Flynn took the proffered saw.

Mia immediately opened a sterile pack and covered the gauze she’d placed around the spear entry point with a small theatre towel. ‘We don’t need wood shavings in there as well. I hope you’re as good with a bush saw as you are with a scalpel.’ She gripped the spear firmly at the entry point and glanced up at him, giving a quiet, companionable smile.

A completely unexpected smile.

He found himself smiling back. ‘I’ve improved with practice.’ He tapped the back of his hand where a long, jagged scar ran across three knuckles.

‘Ouch.’

‘My seven stitches were a badge of honour but Dad didn’t let me loose in the carving shed after that. Right, holding tight.’ The large bush saw seemed ludicrous against the narrow width of the spear but it was all they had. And he was used to making do. Medicine in remote rural communities was as much about improvisation as it was about modern medicine. He placed the bush saw a couple of centimetres above her hand.

Her hand tightened on the spear. ‘You need to leave more room.’

He tamped down his frustration at her tone. ‘I know what I’m doing, your knuckles will be safe.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She spoke softly and flicked her gaze to his, sea-blue irises sparkling at him like sunshine on water.

His heart rate unexpectedly kicked up for the first time in a very long time, pushing delicious languid heat through him, warming places that had been cold since Brooke’s betrayal.

His hand instantly gripped the saw harder, willing the sensation away. He refused to accept the feeling, hating that it could even happen after two years of self-imposed celibacy. Forcing his attention to the spear and the saw, he spoke slowly. ‘Jimmy, I’m going to cut the spear. I need you to keep as still as possible.’

He carefully pulled the serrated silver blade through the wood and five quick cuts later, the spear was in two pieces.

Mia checked Jimmy’s pulse and stroked his head. ‘You’re doing really well.’

The boy whimpered.

Flynn touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘Jimmy, we’re going to slide you onto a trolley and take you inside.’

‘I’ll steady his hips, you take his shoulders and, Walter, you can take the feet.’ Mia raised herself from kneeling to a low squat, ready to move, and gave Flynn an expectant look. ‘On your count, Flynn, when you’re ready.’

She’d taken over again. ‘Thanks for that.’ He couldn’t stop the sarcasm leaking into his voice.

Mia blinked against a flash of confusion and a slight frown creased her forehead.

You’re being petty . He shut his ears to the voice and crawled around behind Jimmy’s head, putting his arms under the boy’s left shoulder. ‘One, two, three.’

The young boy bit his lip as he was carefully slid down the tray on his side and then lifted onto the trolley.

‘We need you to lie very still on your front.’ Their voices collided, deep resonance tumbling with gentle softness.

Mia shrugged her shoulders, a wry smile hovering around her mouth. ‘What can I say? I’m a firstborn and we always tend to take charge.’

His mouth twitched despite him wanting to keep a straight face, the truth of her comment hitting home. ‘You and me both.’