didn’t blame him. There was something about her that could keep a bloke mesmerised, but not him. He reminded himself of his cast-iron immunity, the one that Brooke had activated.
‘Flynn, I got a bush saw.’ Walter ran up holding a bright orange-handled saw.
‘Thanks, Walter, excellent work.’ Flynn took the proffered saw.
Mia immediately opened a sterile pack and covered the gauze she’d placed around the spear entry point with a small theatre towel. ‘We don’t need wood shavings in there as well. I hope you’re as good with a bush saw as you are with a scalpel.’ She gripped the spear firmly at the entry point and glanced up at him, giving a quiet, companionable smile.
A completely unexpected smile.
He found himself smiling back. ‘I’ve improved with practice.’ He tapped the back of his hand where a long, jagged scar ran across three knuckles.
‘Ouch.’
‘My seven stitches were a badge of honour but Dad didn’t let me loose in the carving shed after that. Right, holding tight.’ The large bush saw seemed ludicrous against the narrow width of the spear but it was all they had. And he was used to making do. Medicine in remote rural communities was as much about improvisation as it was about modern medicine. He placed the bush saw a couple of centimetres above her hand.
Her hand tightened on the spear. ‘You need to leave more room.’
He tamped down his frustration at her tone. ‘I know what I’m doing, your knuckles will be safe.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She spoke softly and flicked her gaze to his, sea-blue irises sparkling at him like sunshine on water.
His heart rate unexpectedly kicked up for the first time in a very long time, pushing delicious languid heat through him, warming places that had been cold since Brooke’s betrayal.
His hand instantly gripped the saw harder, willing the sensation away. He refused to accept the feeling, hating that it could even happen after two years of self-imposed celibacy. Forcing his attention to the spear and the saw, he spoke slowly. ‘Jimmy, I’m going to cut the spear. I need you to keep as still as possible.’
He carefully pulled the serrated silver blade through the wood and five quick cuts later, the spear was in two pieces.
Mia checked Jimmy’s pulse and stroked his head. ‘You’re doing really well.’
The boy whimpered.
Flynn touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘Jimmy, we’re going to slide you onto a trolley and take you inside.’
‘I’ll steady his hips, you take his shoulders and, Walter, you can take the feet.’ Mia raised herself from kneeling to a low squat, ready to move, and gave Flynn an expectant look. ‘On your count, Flynn, when you’re ready.’
She’d taken over again. ‘Thanks for that.’ He couldn’t stop the sarcasm leaking into his voice.
Mia blinked against a flash of confusion and a slight frown creased her forehead.
You’re being petty. He shut his ears to the voice and crawled around behind Jimmy’s head, putting his arms under the boy’s left shoulder. ‘One, two, three.’
The young boy bit his lip as he was carefully slid down the tray on his side and then lifted onto the trolley.
‘We need you to lie very still on your front.’ Their voices collided, deep resonance tumbling with gentle softness.
Mia shrugged her shoulders, a wry smile hovering around her mouth. ‘What can I say? I’m a firstborn and we always tend to take charge.’
His mouth twitched despite him wanting to keep a straight face, the truth of her comment hitting home. ‘You and me both.’
A trickle of laughter sprinkled her words. ‘Oh, dear, we could be in strife, then. All chiefs and no Indians.’ Her smile expanded, dancing down into the deep creases that formed around her plump mouth.
Irrational disappointment streaked through him when she looked away and spoke to Jimmy.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Just OK.’ Jimmy’s scared voice was barely audible.
‘Walter, go and get Ruby.’ Flynn knew the father wouldn’t want to be in the clinic and the boy needed his mother.
‘I’ll bring her.’ The stressed man hopped into the truck and drove off.
‘Let’s go.’ Flynn flicked the brakes on the trolley upward with his foot, releasing the wheels, and together he and Mia quickly pushed the trolley inside.
‘How about I prime the Hartmann’s and insert the IV while you examine him?’ Mia ripped open an IV set and plunged the metal-tipped top into a bag of electrolyte fluid.
He caught the subtle change in her tone. She’d tried to convert her ‘in-charge’ statement into a question. ‘Good idea.’ He had to agree with her—the division of jobs was in Jimmy’s best interests.
He pulled his stethoscope off the hook and pushed it into his ears. He listened intently to the air entry, even though the puncture wound was probably lower than the lungs. Who knew which direction the spear was lying internally?
‘Jimmy, I need to put a needle into your arm so we can give you something to drink through your veins.’ Mia wrapped the tourniquet around Jimmy’s thin, left arm. ‘I promise it will hurt a lot less than the spear.’
The boy squeezed his eyes shut as if he didn’t want to think about it.
‘Air entry good, respirations slightly elevated.’ Flynn wrapped the blood-pressure cuff around the boy’s arm and listened to the sound of the whoosh and thump of the blood pounding in the arteries. He swung the stethoscope around his neck. ‘BP’s dropping slowly. He’s bleeding somewhere.’
‘Or leaking somewhere?’ Her brows drew together in concentration as she examined Jimmy’s arm. ‘He’s not exactly in shutdown but some of his veins have collapsed.’
‘A slow bleed.’ He mulled over the idea, enjoying having someone to talk to about a diagnosis.
She tapped the sluggish vein on the boy’s arm, her eyes glued to the spot. The tip of her pink tongue ran across her top teeth in an action of pure concentration.
Flynn’s gaze zeroed in on her lush, red lips, the moist tongue holding his gaze like a magnet. An age-old surge of lust—hot, hard and intense—rocked through him so unexpectedly he almost staggered.
Her mouth closed and with practised care she slid the wide-bore cannula into the dark vein just below his elbow. ‘I’m in—line established.’
Her words broke over him and it was like being released from a trance. What was wrong with him today? He didn’t react like this. He knew only too well it led to heartache and loss. He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. ‘Great. Give him five hundred millilitres stat while we work out what’s going on.’
He
