be taking its toll. His hair was nice, she thought inconsequentially. Thick and wavy and deep, deep black. What she could see of his face was strong-boned and tanned. Her initial impression was really, really nice.
Which was a silly thing to think, given the circumstances. ‘I’ll get you something for the pain and ring for an ambulance,’ she told him, and decided that shock was affecting her too. Her voice was decidedly wobbly. She couldn’t make it sound efficient and clinical. Efficient and clinical was the last thing she felt like.
And his next words made her feel even less efficient. ‘There’s no phone reception out here,’ the man muttered.
‘No reception?’
‘No.’
‘But…’ Leaving her hand resting on his head—he’d need touch, she knew—she rose and sat back on her heels and stared blankly down at him. ‘But…why not?’
‘Because we’re in the middle of nowhere.’ Stupid, he might have added, but he didn’t. ‘Why do you think I run out here?’
‘Because you’re stupid?’ Lizzie whispered, trying to disguise her overwhelming sensation of sick dismay. No reception. Help!
‘A man has to have peace some time.’
‘Yeah, well, it should be really peaceful in hospital,’ she snapped. This was a crazy conversation. He was lying face down in the road; she didn’t even know what was wrong with him yet, and he was giving her cheek?
‘Who said anything about hospital?’
‘I did.’ Her voice was starting to sound a bit desperate. She was feeling more out of control by the minute. ‘That’s where you’re going.’ She took a deep breath, searching for control. ‘Now shut up while I examine you. And stay still!’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Silence. More silence. Lizzie started running her fingers over his body, searching for any lumps or bumps or obvious contusions. She could still only see his back but she was reluctant to roll him over. For a start that leg would hurt like hell. Second, if he’d hurt his back or his neck…
‘I can wiggle my fingers and my left toes,’ he told her. ‘I’m not game to try my right toes.’
‘I don’t blame you. You’ve got a horrible break. I just had to straighten it to get circulation back.’
‘Circulation…’ He stirred and she placed a warning hand on his shoulder. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Lizzie Darling.’ Her hands kept moving. One good thing about the scanty clothes he was wearing, her examination wasn’t impeded. She put her hands under him and felt his ribs. His chest was broad and muscled and the ribs didn’t seem damaged at all.
‘Lizzie Darling.’ He sounded bemused. ‘Darling. As in not Lizzie Sweetheart but Lizzie Darling, daughter of Mr and Mrs Darling? Or wife of Mr Darling?’
She could afford to be magnanimous about her stupid name. Almost. If she hadn’t been so fond of her mum and dad and her grandma she would have changed it years ago. But by deed poll. Not by marriage. ‘Daughter will do,’ she told him. ‘That’s the one.’
‘You’re the new locum, then?’ he demanded, his voice incredulous, and she sat back and surveyed him some more. And worried some more. She had more to concentrate on now than her entirely inappropriate name.
‘I’ll find something to splint that leg and then we’ll try and roll you over.’
‘But you are the doctor we’re expecting?’
‘I am.’ She was searching the roadside. A branch had fallen from the cliff-top and it had crashed down, splintering into what she needed—a mass of wood of various lengths and thickness. Something here would do. She needed to roll him to check for further injuries but she wanted that leg immobile first.
At least the man was sensible. His voice was strong enough. With no blood, ease of breathing and fully conscious…she hadn’t killed him and it didn’t look like she was going to.
Locum. He’d said locum. He’d recognised her name?
‘You knew I was coming?’ She left him for a moment to think about it while she fetched her doctor’s bag from the back of the car. Returning to kneel beside him, she located a syringe from the bag and fitted it with a morphine vial. By the time she had the needle ready, he had his answer ready. He might be conscious but he was still dazed.
‘Yeah, I knew you were coming. Of course I did.’
‘I’m just giving you something for the pain.’
‘Morphine?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Five milligrams.’
‘I thought ten,’ she told him. ‘I need to move you and it’s going to hurt.’
‘Five.’
‘Hey, who’s the doctor here?’
‘I am,’ he told her, and she paused, her syringe held to the light, and stared at the head in the mud.
‘You?’
‘Me,’ he told her, his face still obscured. ‘That’s who you just ran over. Your boss. I’m Harry McKay, Birrini’s doctor. You’re here to replace me while I go on my honeymoon.’
Silence. She managed to finish checking the syringe but she was operating on automatic pilot. She couldn’t focus on what he was saying and what was needed at the same time.
Medicine. Concentrate on medicine or she’d do something really stupid.
Seven and a half milligrams of morphine, she decided. When in doubt, compromise.
She swabbed his arm while he lay absolutely still. That fracture must be causing agony, she thought. He’d turned his head slightly and she could see the set look on his jaw.
Forget compromise. Forget he was a doctor. He was very definitely a patient. Ten milligrams of morphine whether he liked it or not.
She gave the dose subcutaneously, then moved down so she could work on his leg. She’d prepare the splint while she waited for the morphine to take hold.
‘Five minutes tops before you get relief,’ she told him.
‘I know how long morphine takes to work.’
‘I guess you do.’ Her mind was racing. ‘So…you’re really the doctor I’m coming to replace?’
‘I am.’
‘You’re getting married?’
‘Yep.’
‘Right.’ She frowned. She shouldn’t be talking to him like this. She should still be assessing him for shock. But it seemed he wanted to talk. To lie in the mud and think about what damage had been done… He’d be scared,
