Lilian Darcy - The Australian's Desire - Their Lost-and-Found Family / Long-Lost Son - Brand-New Family / A Proposal Worth Waiting For

‘I don’t want him down,’ Georgie said, moving to pick him up again, but Alistair intercepted her.

‘I’ve done the triage, Dr Turner. Not before I’ve checked that eye.’

‘It’s fine.’

For answer he picked her up and sat her on the trolley next to Thomas. She opened her mouth to squeak a protest but he was already gently probing, checking bone structure, peering intently at her eye, looking for internal bleeding.

She was so slight. A diminutive woman with courage that would put men twice her size to shame. She submitted to his ministrations but he had the feeling she was simply humouring him.

‘No brain injury,’ she said, gently mocking. ‘Nothing here you’re interested in.’

Maybe not. But he was suddenly aware of what he’d felt six months ago. The feeling that had surfaced as he’d danced with her.

He’d thought she was a woman with morals somewhere below that of a guttersnipe.

Maybe he’d misjudged her …

‘What’s happening?’

It was Grace, bursting in to see what was happening. Appalled. ‘Georgie, you’re hurt. I just saw Harry taking Smiley away. He said—’

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie said.

‘But Harry said Smiley hit you.’ Grace sounded incredulous. ‘You let him hit you?’

‘I had to.’

‘She does karate,’ Grace said to Alistair. ‘She’s black belt. No man can get near her. Harry knew that or he’d never …’ She’d moved closer to Georgie as she’d spoken, edging in on Alistair’s space. ‘Harry’s feeling dreadful and sent me to check. Let me see.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re shaking.’

‘I am not. Leave me be.’ Georgie jumped down from the trolley before Alistair could stop her. ‘If you want to be useful, take Thomas.’

‘That’s another reason I’m here,’ Grace admitted. ‘Lizzie’s asking for him and Charles wants to check him. But, Georgie, come through and let Charles see the damage.’

‘I’m fine,’ Georgie snapped again.

‘I’ll take care of it,’ Alistair said, and Grace looked at him dubiously. Then her face cleared as she obviously remembered stuff she’d been told about him. ‘Of course. You’re Gina’s Alistair. You’re a neurosurgeon.’

‘That’s right,’

‘Then I guess you can cope. If you think she needs an X-ray, give a yell.’

‘He won’t do any medicine,’ Georgie said, sounding contemptuous. ‘I know US doctors. They think treating people messes with their insurance.’

‘Now, that,’ Grace said roundly, ‘is just plain rude. And wrong. The ambo boys said Alistair’s already put in a drip. And I’m sure he’ll help any way he can. Won’t you, Alistair?’

‘Of course.’ Black belt in karate, huh? He eyed Georgie with increasing respect.

‘I only pick on people my own size,’ Georgie said.

‘I wasn’t thinking—’

‘Yeah, you were. Wimp.’

‘Georgie, behave,’ Grace said severely. Thomas opened his mouth again, a preliminary to wailing. Ready, set, yell. She smiled ruefully down at him. ‘OK, sweetheart, I’ll take you to your mum. Alistair, there’s a digital camera in the desk drawer. Use it. Please. Harry says we need photographs. I’m sorry to leave you like this but this place has gone crazy. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Georgie, behave,’ she repeated.

And she was gone.

THERE was a moment’s silence. Georgie’s hand had crept to her cheek again, hiding the damage.

‘I do need to clean and dress it,’ he said gently, but she shook her head and started following Grace.

She was limping.

‘Georgie?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not.’

Alistair moved then, fast, catching her by the shoulders and turning her around. Gently. Aware of her black belt.

But her black belt had been punched right out of her.

‘Leave me be.’ She sounded suddenly … drained.

‘Let me see your face. And your foot.’

‘No.’

She was like a little wildcat, he thought. Tough as nails, all claws and hiss. But she was shaking. He could feel the tremors in her shoulders.

To hell with the black belt. He lifted her up again and dumped her on the nearest examination trolley. ‘Stay where you’re put.’

‘Do you mind?’ She seemed practically speechless. ‘I need to—’

‘Nothing’s more urgent than your face. You should have stayed put in the first place.’ He pulled her fingers away. ‘Hell, Georgie …’

‘Don’t swear. You make me feel like it’s worse than it is.’

‘It’s bad.’

‘It’s not. I’ve learned how to ride a punch. I can feel my cheekbone. He didn’t break anything.’

She’d learned how to ride a punch? In karate? He didn’t think so. Everything about this woman spoke of a tough background.

Except that she was an obstetrician.

First things first. If she’d gone to this much effort, it wasn’t about to be wasted for want of effort on his part. He wheeled across to the desk by the door and found the camera. ‘Let’s do this before we do any cleaning.’

‘Oh, very good,’ she said, and managed a smile. ‘OK, I submit.’

‘Lie down.’

‘No, I—’

‘You’ll look more pallid and wan against the pillows.’

‘I don’t want to look like a victim.’

‘I’m very sure you do.’ He fiddled with the camera. ‘If you could manage a few tears …’

She thought about that, and then she managed a smile. It was a great smile, despite the bruising. Like the sun had just come out.

‘Right,’ she said, and she lay back on the pillows, moving into her role of victim with gusto. He adjusted the camera, turned to focus on her cheek—and to his astonishment her eyes were brimming.

He stared.

‘Neat trick, huh?’ she said. ‘Don’t interrupt. I’m thinking sad thoughts.’

Sad thoughts. He couldn’t make her out. He focused and shot. The photograph would be damning, he thought. Her dark curls accentuated the pallor of her skin. The knuckle marks of Smiley’s hand were clearly visible and the splitting of the skin before it was cleaned looked worse than it actually was.

And she was playing it for all it was worth. Her eyes were brimming, seemingly pain-filled. There were tears coursing down her cheeks.

He wanted to … He wanted to …

‘Enough,’ she declared as the camera clicked for the fourth time. She swung herself upright.

He put the camera aside and pushed her down again.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all. Let’s do a bit more triage. Foot first.’ He’d moved before she knew what he intended. He had her left foot in his hand, lifting it high. ‘Ouch.’

‘It’s fine,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t use that against Smiley.’

‘It’d be good if we could,’ he agreed, examining her heel with care. ‘Hell, woman, were you out of your mind, running in bare feet?’

‘I scarcely had a choice.’

‘You had a choice as to what to put on this morning.’ He hauled a nearby trolley closer and stared dubiously at its contents. ‘Stilettos?’

‘You’re criticising my footwear?’

‘I am. There’s a splinter in here. A deep one.’

‘I’ll get it out myself.’

‘Shut up and lie back,’ he told her, and then, as she struggled to sit up and opened her mouth to argue, he took her by the shoulders and propelled her back onto the pillows. ‘Not a word.’

‘You’re not an emergency doctor,’ she said resentfully, and he tugged on gloves, located a pile of antiseptic swabs and ripped one open.

‘No. I’m a neurosurgeon. You want a little brain surgery on the side?’

‘Look, honest—’

‘Lie still and think of England,’ he told her. ‘This might sting.’