The Doctor Claims His Bride (10 page)

Eventually he spoke. ‘You’re right. It’s just part of the job.’

But suddenly the job had just got a lot more complicated.

*

‘Well, the bride turned up. That has to be a good start to a happy married life.’ Flynn pulled off his silk tie and unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt as relief rolled through him.

Mia shot him a penetrating look. ‘I thought it all went off very well. The bride looked gorgeous, and Susie was so proud she almost burst. And you faced a personal challenge and got through it.’ She suddenly giggled and relaxed back in the garden chair. ‘You’ll get so good at weddings you’ll start crashing them.’

‘I think those three sips of champagne you had addled your brain.’

He and Mia were sitting in her garden under a sprawling mahogany tree strung with tiny bud lights, their twinkling white glow a precursor to the stars that were slowly rising in the night sky. Most of the wedding
guests had gone on to the reception but, as Mia had promised him, they had left as soon as they had walked down the official bridal party line and wished everyone well. From the moment they had driven to the church right up to the time they’d returned to her house, Mia hadn’t left his side.

And when the priest had announced the arrival of the bride she’d reached for his hand and held it until the happy couple had left the church. It had been the act of a true friend. Except the wondrous feelings her touch had stirred up in him didn’t belong in the same sentence as friendship.

He breathed out a long breath. ‘I think I’ll leave the wedding crashing to you.’

‘They’re not really my scene either.’ She slipped off her strappy sandals and wriggled her toes, her red nail polish shining like a channel beacon.

He watched, mesmerised as the ripple of movement trailed up her foot, along the curves of her calves, and over her knees before disappearing under the shimmery sea-green fabric of her dress. He pulled his mind back from the imagined image of her thighs. ‘Not your scene? Most women love a wedding and the idea of a happy-ever-after.’

Her relaxed demeanour stiffened slightly. ‘I’m not most women, and happy-ever-afters are overrated.’

A red flag shot up in his brain and he studied her face carefully. The sadness in her eyes, which he’d attributed to the loss of her family, had receded a small amount over the last couple of weeks, but now it was back and firmly entrenched. Her comment snagged and he
couldn’t let it go. After all, the death of her mother and brother shouldn’t affect her opinion on marriage.

He tried a flippant approach in the hope he could sneak under her defences and get her to open up. ‘Don’t tell me you were stood up at the altar, too.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘Not quite. You get to keep the gold medal for that event.’

A tiny smile tugged at her lips, almost distracting him. ‘But you were engaged?’

She looked up at him through long, thick lashes. ‘I was for a few months, but Steven couldn’t cope with…’ She paused and took in a deep breath. ‘Steven decided he didn’t want to marry into my family.’

He immediately thought of his mother. ‘I’m sorry. I know how family politics and money can nuke relationships.’

She shrugged. ‘As it turned out, it was for the best.’

‘I gather all this happened before your mother and brother died?’ He was trying to piece it all together.

She clasped her hands in her lap and nodded. ‘Actually, it happened soon after my brother’s death.’ She jutted her chin forward defiantly. ‘As they say, timing is everything.’

Her hurt pounded him and he wanted to thump the man who had compounded her grief. But at the same time confusion swirled in his brain. ‘Your brother’s death? I assumed your mother and brother died together in an accident?’

Silently, she picked up a box of matches from the small table and rose to her feet.

He kept his gaze fixed on her as she padded over to
the citronella flares. With studied concentration she struck a match and the hiss of sulphur igniting was the only sound between them. Flames leapt into the air, the smoke, which would follow, designed to drive back the mosquitoes.

Her silence told him more than her previous words. She didn’t want to talk about this but with a patience he’d learned on Kirra he waited for her to find her time to speak.

She turned, tumbling the matchbox over and over between her fingers. ‘Michael’s car ran off the road into a tree a few months before my mother died.’

The sequence of events seemed muddled in his mind. Getting information from Mia was like getting blood from a stone, but a growing need to know more about her drove him on. He stood up and walked over to her. ‘So your mother died from injuries sustained in the accident?’

Hesitation wafted through her eyes and she sighed. ‘No. My mother wasn’t involved in the accident, although losing Michael probably didn’t help her health. She’d been unwell and failing for a long time.’

Still the information dribbled out in a frustrating and ambiguous way. The doctor in him needed to know, the man wanted to understand. ‘Cancer?’

She raised her gaze to his, grief vivid and raw in her blue eyes. He saw the battle of emotions raging, as if she didn’t want to tell him. He caught the moment she capitulated.

‘My mother died of dementia.’

The modern scourge of an aging population. A condition
that touched so many families. He immediately knew that she would have put her life on hold to care for her elderly mother. She would have had to endure the powerlessness of watching a loved one fade away. ‘You really have had a horrendously tough year.’

Instinctively, he reached out and trailed his fingers down her smooth cheek. ‘I wish I could do something to make it better.’

She raised her hand, and for a moment her palm covered his as her gaze stared into him, terrifyingly empty and bereft.

And then it flared with unconcealed desire.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Weeks of restraint dropped away and he reached for her, curving his hands around her cheeks, glorying in the weight of her body against his own and longing to feel her lips under his.

She pressed soft and pliant lips to the corner of his mouth. Lips that brushed his with a touch so gentle and yet so potent that his blood pounded through him hard and fast, and the boom of an explosion rocked him.

Mia gave a cry of surprise and jumped back from him as if she’d taken a volt of electricity. Her hand flew to her chest and then she laughed as her gaze tilted upwards. ‘Look, fireworks.’ She excitedly pointed to the sky as pink and blue lights trailed through the sky.

The explosions he’d heard had been real. His head spun from a lack of blood, all of which had pooled in groin. He felt like a sixteen-year-old boy disabled by lust. Dragging in a deep breath, he tried to find his equilibrium
as the squeal of a rocket screamed around them. ‘Someone must have brought them back from Darwin and saved them from the Territory celebrations. Let’s hope they’ve read the instructions.’

‘I love fireworks.’ She smiled at him, the colours of the magnesium dust reflected in her eyes. ‘They make you forget everything for a moment and give you joy.’

He knew another way they could both drive away the demons of their past and find joy. He watched her with her head tilted up to the sky, her face free of the grief that usually shadowed her.

He wanted to feel her body curving against his, breathe in the lemon scent of her hair, the intoxicating richness of her perfume, and taste her sweetness. He hadn’t wanted a woman in two years but tonight he wanted to lose himself in her. He raised his arm in preparation to slide it around her waist and draw her back close to him. To kiss her until they both melted to the ground in a pool of need.

The shrillness of the clinic’s emergency siren broke over them.

Adrenaline crashed into disappointment with a sickening thud. Obviously tonight wasn’t going to work but the seed for seduction had been sown. He just had to get the timing right.

Mia ran barefoot to the clinic, the emergency thankfully dousing the simmering lust that had consumed her moments before. She’d lost all sense tonight. She’d half kissed Flynn and that was such a bad idea for so many reasons.

And what had possessed her to mention her mother’s dementia? She hadn’t meant to but the look of empathy
in Flynn’s eyes when she’d talked about Steven had lowered her guard. Most people associated Alzheimer’s with dementia and never thought of the insidious Pick’s disease, so her secret was probably still safe. ‘Do you think Alice has deteriorated?’

‘No.’ The moonlight showed his grim expression. ‘I’d say someone’s come to grief with a cracker.’

They ran up into the clinic and met a chaotic scene. People were yelling and wailing as they crowded in on the door.

‘Stand back, now!’

She’d never heard Flynn’s voice sound so stern but it did the job. The crowd opened up and she and Flynn raced into the treatment room.

A young man writhing in pain lay on the examination table, his face swollen and blistered, pale pink against his normally black skin.

Jenny stood helplessly wringing her hands. ‘The crackers blew up in his face.’

‘Get the crash cart.’

But as Flynn’s curt words sounded, Mia had already pulled it into position. Using shears, she cut away the half-burned T-shirt, exposing more burns on the man’s chest. She looked at Jenny. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Jai.’

‘Jai, we’re going to help you.’ She bit her lip and glanced at Flynn. ‘I’ll ring Darwin.’

Flynn shook his head. ‘No, I need you here. He needs two IV lines, his eyes need a saline lavage and we’ll probably have to intubate.’ He pulled his stethoscope up to his ears. ‘Jenny, get wet packs for Jai’s face and chest.
We need to cool his skin. After you’ve done that, get Darwin on the phone and tell them we have severe facial burns and to send the air ambulance. I’ll talk to them as soon as Jai’s stable.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’ Jenny headed toward the cupboard with the sterile packs.

Mia hesitated, wondering where to put the monitor dots. ‘His chest is burned and the monitor dots—’

‘It can’t be helped.’ Flynn was in triage mode. ‘Put the dots onto the burned skin. We need levels.’

She ripped the backing paper off and quickly put the dots in place, trying not to think about how the burned skin would eventually come off with the dot. A moment later the ECG bleeped reassuringly but she knew that hypovolaemic shock and a constricted airway were their biggest challenges.

Flynn pulled the stethoscope out of his ears. ‘He’s developing stridor.’

She pulled open a drawer on the cart. ‘Do you want to intubate first or put in the IV lines?’ Both were vital.

‘We’ll keep a close eye on him and put the lines in first. That way, if he arrests we’ll have access for drugs.’

‘He needs morphine as soon as possible.’ She passed Flynn a tourniquet, alcohol swab and cannula. ‘You start and I’ll have the line primed by the time you’re in.’

‘Thanks.’ A smile carved through the worry that lined his face, travelling along his cheeks, unusually free of stubble.

She soaked up his smile, letting it trail through her, lighting her up from the inside and warming her in a way she’d never known before.

It’s just a smile of thanks. It’s not specifically for you
. But she ignored the voice and held onto the feeling.

Clamping the IV tubing with her hand, she let the Hartmann’s solution fill the chamber before letting go and releasing the liquid in one quick gush to avoid air bubbles.

She hung the litre bag of fluid onto the pole.

‘I’m in.’ Flynn withdrew the trocar and connected the drip. ‘You insert one into his left arm and I’ll check his breathing.’

Mia wrapped the blood-pressure cuff around Jai’s arm and pumped it up. ‘BP one hundred on sixty.’ She re-pumped the cuff, using the band of pressure to make the young man’s veins rise. ‘Jai, just one more needle and then we’ll give you something for the pain.’

Jai’s only response was a moan through lips swollen to three times their normal size.

Mia’s heart tore. He must be in agony. Her fingers palpated the largest vein and she slid the needle in quickly, surprised Jai wasn’t more peripherally shut down. Grabbing an ampoule, she snapped it open and with a skill honed over many years she drew up the clear liquid into the syringe. ‘Check ten milligrams of morphine.’

Flynn read the ampoule. ‘Check. When you’re ready, please set up for a tracheostomy.’

She plunged the morphine into the rubber bung of the IV. ‘Do you think he has oesophageal and laryngeal burns?’

His black brows drew together. ‘With all this swelling I can’t imagine I’d be able to visualise the vocal cords, let alone pass an endotracheal tube.’ He walked to the sink and washed his hands.

Mia quickly assembled what they needed—a scalpel, Betadine, tracheostomy tube, suture thread, saline and a syringe to fill the balloon of the tube. Opening a sterile cloth, she draped it over a trolley and then added two pairs of gloves, along with the other items.

‘Jai, I have to tilt your head back.’ With both hands gloved, she carefully placed them against his ears and hyper-extended their patient’s neck. Then she picked up his hand. ‘You’ll feel the sting of the local anaesthetic and after that just some pushing and pulling.’

Jai murmured something incomprehensible and she hoped the morphine had sedated him.

Flynn snapped on his gloves and infiltrated the area with local anaesthetic before swabbing it. ‘Just in case you ever have to do this, the trachea is generally two finger-breadths above the sternal notch.’ He demonstrated how to measure.

She concentrated on his every word and action. He always did this—he turned every situation into a teaching one and generously passed on his knowledge. The more time she spent with him, the more she realised what a special man he truly was. Did Brooke have any idea what she’d given up?

A bubble of anger burst inside her at the pain that woman had caused him, was still causing him, and she found herself vigorously snapping the scalpel onto the blade handle and slapping it into his palm. ‘So it’s a horizontal cut.’