Kate Hardy - The Doctor's Pregnancy Surprise

His doubts lessened as the week went on because Holly stuck to the rules: she treated him as just another colleague, giving him as much information as he needed about patients and steering well clear of anything remotely personal. Which suited him fine.

Until the Friday night, when David was treating a patient with chest pains and heard an almighty racket coming from Reception.

He glanced at the clock. Yep, just as he’d thought: chucking-out time from the pubs. It sounded as if there were a number of drunken people wandering round Reception, demanding treatment. Probably a punch-up, he thought. Bruises, lacerations, the odd fracture.

But they’d probably demand immediate treatment and would harry the receptionist until they were seen. Which meant he needed to step in before things escalated.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he promised the elderly man. ‘Keep breathing the oxygen for me. Slow breaths. In and one and out and one,’ he counted, checking that his patient was keeping the same time. ‘That’s great. If the pain gets any worse, press the buzzer here.’

Oh, great. Just what they didn’t need on a busy Friday night. Six men in their early twenties who’d all drunk way too much beer. Probably with a few vodka or tequila chasers. And they were getting aggressive with Siobhan.

If she didn’t do something, right now, this could escalate into something really nasty.

Holly strode over to them. ‘I believe you gentlemen require assistance?’

As she’d hoped, they turned away from Siobhan, giving the receptionist a chance to hit the panic button. All Holly needed to do now was to keep them talking until Security arrived.

‘You going to kiss it better for me, then?’ One of them swaggered over to her.

I’ll kick it, more like, if you don’t put a sock in it, Holly thought, but she smiled sweetly. She’d had it drummed into her at medical school that you treated all patients the same, even if you didn’t like them. Conflict slowed things down and made it more likely that you’d make a clinical error. You had to defuse volatile situations as quickly as you could.

‘I know you need to be seen, but Friday nights are always really busy, and, I’m sorry, that means you’re in a queue. We’ll be able to treat you much more quickly if you wait in a line and give our receptionist the details she needs—one at a time. If you’re all talking at once she’s not going to be able to hear you properly and that’s how mistakes get made.’

‘Bossy. Bet you like it on top, don’tcha?’ The one with the black eye leered at her. ‘You can give me one, if you like.’

She laughed it off. ‘I can tell you’ve had a bump on the head.’

‘Oi, you’ve got to see our mate. Now. He’s been knifed—he’s bleeding,’ one of them said, jabbing a finger in the air at her.

Holly kept her arms calmly by her sides and flexed her fingers to avoid her gut reaction of balling her fists ready to punch him. ‘We’ll see you all in time. But there’s one thing you should all know.’

‘Yeah?’

She beckoned the one with the black eye closer. ‘If you’re drunk, I’ll have to assume your body won’t be able to tolerate any anaesthetic—because it’ll make you ill,’ she said quietly. This wasn’t strictly true, but she was banking on his knowledge of medicine being confined to TV dramas. ‘With a bloke your size, I’m going to have to use a big needle to stitch your wounds. Without anaesthetic, it’s going to hurt.’

‘Needle?’ Black-Eye said, colour draining from his face.

Just as she’d calculated: the bigger the braggart, the more fuss he made about things hurting. Particularly needles. ‘Big needle,’ she emphasised. ‘And, of course, I’ll need to give you a tetanus booster.’ From years of experience, she kept an empty epidural syringe in her pocket when she did the night shift on Fridays or Saturdays, for just this sort of situation. She withdrew it and showed it to him.

He swore in horror. ‘That—that’s huge!’

Which was the whole point: even without the needle, it looked impressive. Her patient didn’t need to know the syringe was used for anaesthesia and guiding a tube into the spinal cord—it certainly wasn’t used to give vaccinations or local anaesthetic for suturing wounds! She managed to hide her grin. ‘If you sit quietly and don’t hassle the other patients—or my receptionist—I’ll assume you’re not drunk and I’ll make sure you get some painkillers before I sort out that cut. So it’s your choice, mate. Drunk and painful, or not drunk and painkillers?’

‘Right.’ Black-Eye looked thoughtful. ‘Come on, lads. Let’s do what the doc says. Sit down and wait.’

‘I’m not waiting. That bastard sliced my arm. I’ll bleed to death! I want it stitched now, so I can go and sort him out,’ another one said, thrusting his face belligerently into Holly’s. ‘You a doc or a dolly?’

She nearly gagged at the alcohol fumes. ‘A doctor. A female doctor. One who’s been on her feet all evening and really, really needs a cup of coffee. The longer you keep me here, the longer it’ll take to treat you. So why don’t you sit down and let me finish helping my patient, so I can start seeing to your arm?’

He glared back at her, but he sat down, just as two burly security men entered the room and David emerged from the cubicles.

‘Problems?’ one of the security men asked.

‘Not any more—are there, lads?’ Holly asked.

‘No, Doc,’ Black-Eye said politely.

David stared at Holly. ‘What did you do?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot. Just pointed out a few things.’ She shrugged. ‘Siobhan, who’s next on my list?’

Holly had just taken on six drunken men—all of whom were a good six inches taller than she was. All muscular, all drunk, and all of them had been fighting, so adrenaline was pumping through their bodies, and they’d been raising hell in Reception.

Without even raising her voice, she’d got them all to sit down. Without a fuss. Then had coolly asked to see her next patient.

The sweet, gentle Holly Jones he’d known definitely wouldn’t have been able to do that. She’d lived a sheltered life and had probably never even seen anyone drunk or violent—whereas he’d lived on a rough estate where he’d seen situations like this every single night.

So maybe the real Holly was the scary one.

Maybe Holly had turned into her mother, the most formidable woman David had ever met.

‘Our Holls is pretty amazing, isn’t she?’ Siobhan said wryly.

‘Just remind me never to get on her bad side,’ David replied.

Though he didn’t think she could do anything else to him. She’d already put him through the mangle and hung him out to dry.

When David had finished treating his share of the drunken brawlers, he headed for the rest room. He needed coffee. Now.

Holly was already there, curled up with a cup of coffee and a chocolate brownie.

Food. He needed food. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked, eyeing the brownie. He just hoped the shop was still open, wherever it was. And still had something like that left.

He was disappointed. ‘Zoe from Paeds left it for me. I’m one of her testers for new recipes.’

‘Oh.’

He wasn’t going to ask her for a bite. Even though he was starving.

But it must have shown on her face because she rolled her eyes. ‘All right, all right, I’ll split it with you.’ She broke the cake in two and handed one half to him, with just the hint of a smile.

‘Thank you.’ His head was reeling. This was Scary Holly, the one who’d made the drunken louts behave like lambs. How could she be Nice Holly, who shared her goodies? Especially, he thought when he took his first bite, something as scrummy as this, which any normal person definitely wouldn’t have wanted to share?