she ask to hand over compressions to someone else? This was enough of a physical effort to make her aware of perspiration dampening her shirt. No, she wouldn’t ask. She was with Luke on this.
He had been the one to respond and identify the crisis, which made this man his patient until he chose to hand him over. And he’d asked for Anna’s help. Roger was their patient and they could do this as well, probably better, than the junior doctors assigned to crash-team duties for the day.
‘Stop compressions.’ Luke was watching the screen of the life pack, waiting for a readable trace to appear. ‘V fib,’ he announced moments later. ‘Charging to three hundred joules. Everyone stand clear.’
The junior doctors inched back, exchanging glances.
‘Who is this guy?’ Anna heard one of them ask another.
‘Luke Davenport,’ came the response. ‘You know, the surgeon who’s just got back from Iraq?’
‘Oh …’
In the short space of time it had taken for three stacked shocks to be delivered, the atmosphere in this inner circle around the victim changed. The crash team, who had been busy resenting not being allowed to showcase their skills in managing an arrest, suddenly couldn’t do enough to help their leader.
‘Do you want an intubation kit, Mr Davenport?’
‘Shall I draw up some adrenaline? Atropine?’
‘Here’s a sixteen-gauge cannula. And a flush.’
‘Dr Bartlett? Do you need a break?’
Anna sat back on her heels, nodding. There was plenty of scientific evidence that compressions became less effective after two minutes unless someone else took a turn. She didn’t move far away, however. She watched, totally amazed by the speed at which Luke worked. And she noticed things she hadn’t noticed before.
Like the streaks of grey in his short brown hair. They had to be premature because she knew he was only a few years older than her and couldn’t have hit forty quite yet. He had such neat fingernails too and his hands looked so different without gloves. Far more masculine, which made their speed and cleverness more impressive as he gained intravenous access and secured the line.
His brain was working just as fast. He seemed to be able to think of everything at once and keep tabs on what everybody was doing, but most of all, Anna was caught by the way he’d taken a trolley of equipment and a group of young medics who hadn’t been thrilled not to be allowed to take over and forged them into a team that was now working under difficult conditions as well as they could have in a resuscitation bay in Emergency.
It was a team that had achieved success even before Luke had made a move to secure Roger’s airway with an endotracheal tube. When the static cleared from the next, single shock delivered, the flat line suddenly gave a blip. And then another.
‘Sinus rhythm,’ one of the crash team said triumphantly. ‘Yes.’
‘Have we got a stretcher?’ Luke still hadn’t relaxed. ‘Let’s get this man into the ED. Or CCU.’
Charlotte had edged her way to the back of the kitchen. ‘Great job, Mr Davenport. Would you like to hand over now?’
‘Call me Luke,’ he said, still watching the monitor. The rhythm was picking up steadily and Roger was taking his own breaths now. The chef’s eyes flickered and he groaned loudly.
And, finally, Anna saw the grim lines of Luke’s face soften a little. He leaned down and gripped Roger’s shoulder again with his hand—the way he had when he’d first begun this resuscitation effort. He didn’t shake it this time. This was a reassuring touch.
‘Just relax,’ he told Roger. ‘We’re looking after you. Everything’s all right.’
He looked up at Charlotte and gave a nod to indicate transfer of responsibility. Charlotte moved closer to talk to him, but as she moved, Luke shifted his gaze to Anna.
And something inside her tightened and then melted.
From the moment this incident had started—from when she’d heard the scream and seen Luke’s instantaneous response, she’d been aware of his total command of the situation. Of his faultless performance and ability to absorb additional resources and personnel and then … right at the end … an indication that he really cared about this patient.
An impressive mix. If his glance had been in any way smug, it could have driven Anna into a defensive corner she might never have emerged from, but there was no hint of smugness. No self-satisfaction even. The fraction of time he held her gaze sent a message that was more like, We did it. This time, at least.
The triumph that was there was on the patient’s behalf. Behind that was the acknowledgment of defeat in other cases and the sadness that they couldn’t always win. Shining over both impressions was a kind of promise. A determination to always fight the odds and do the best possible job.
It sucked her right in.
She could work with this man. Could respect him. Like him.
More than that, in fact, judging by the odd ripple of sensation that caressed her spine and sent tingles through the rest of her body.
Dear Lord, she was attracted to him? No wonder she’d been so aware of her own appearance when she’d been standing in line with Charlotte. It explained a lot but it was a reaction that had to be crushed instantly. Allowing something that personal to threaten a professional relationship would be the ultimate play on femininity.
The reason women couldn’t be seen as equals in this arena was largely because of the perception that they allowed emotion to cloud their judgment. Or, worse, they put a priority on relationships and undermined their careers by taking time off to have babies.
Not Anna Bartlett. It wasn’t on any agenda she’d ever had.
Luke’s return and—worse—his attractiveness were roadblocks. Ones she could detour around, which would see her working somewhere else, or deal with if the pull to stay put was strong enough. Either way, getting even remotely close to Luke Davenport would be a mistake.
It was Anna who broke the eye contact.
And turned away.
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