was important was now she knew. Married men didn’t interest her.
It’s been a long time since an unmarried one interested you.
Get off my case!
She had a gut feeling that she and Matt Albright would probably spend the next ninety days disagreeing but now it would be without fear of those strange and unwanted shimmers. Working with Matt would be uncomplicated and all about the job, and that was what she did best.
She pulled out a business card and held it towards him.
‘This is my mobile number should Sam deteriorate, and meanwhile I’ll let you get back to your Sunday afternoon and your family.’
The goodwill vanished from his eyes as his lean body ceased all movement, and an eerie stillness hovered around him.
So much for her attempt at being polite. She couldn’t work him out.
The card hung between them for a moment and then he slowly raised his arm and plucked it from her fingers. ‘Right. See you around.’
‘I guess you will.’ What else was there to say?
‘Wait!’ Jen hurried over as two bloodied men supported and half dragged another man into the de partment.
‘What happened?’ Matt hauled his way back from the black despair Poppy’s innocent comment had plunged him into, hating that it had, and was glad to be able to focus on the patient.
‘Patient involved in a brawl, suspected head injury and possible fractures.’
He grabbed a gown and stifled a groan. In years gone by, drunken brawls had been exclusively Saturday night’s domain but the mining boom had brought more people into the town and some of them had more money than sense. This patient could have anything from a broken toe to a subdural haematoma, with a million possibilities in between.
He threw Poppy a gown. ‘I think you just got a reprieve from filling your fridge but just so we’re clear, this is my emergency and you’re assisting.’
‘Oh, absolutely.’ But deep sapphire blue shards scudded across her enormous baby-blue eyes, making a mockery of her supposed compliance. ‘It’s your emergency right up to the point when you realise he needs surgery and you’re totally out of your depth.’
No one had been that blunt with him in a long time. A noise rumbled up from deep down inside him and for a moment he didn’t recognise the sound. With a shock of surprise he realised that for the first time in months he’d just laughed.
Matt moved into action, work being one of the few things in his life he didn’t question. He called out to the two men, ‘Help me get him onto this trolley.’
They half hauled and half dropped the injured man onto the mattress and as soon as the sides had been pulled up, Matt asked, ‘Do either of you have any injuries or is that your mate’s blood?’
‘We’re OK.’
Matt wasn’t convinced. ‘Sit over there and wait. As soon as we’ve checked out your mate, someone will examine you both. No one is to leave until you’ve been examined, do you understand?’
Both men looked sheepish. ‘Yeah, Doc.’
He pushed the trolley into the resus room. ‘What’s his pulse ox?’
Poppy slid the peg-like device onto the end of the patient’s finger. ‘Eight-five.’ She unravelled green plastic tubing and turned on the oxygen. ‘Mr …?’
‘Daryl Jameson.’ Jen supplied the information.
‘Mr Jameson. I’m Poppy Stanfield, this is Jen Smithers, and on your left is Dr Matt Albright. You’re in good hands. We’re just going to give you some oxygen and help you to sit up.’
Matt tried not to show his surprise that Poppy had failed to mention her qualifications and that unlike many surgeons she was actually quite personable with an awake patient. ‘Daryl, how’s the breathing, mate?’
‘Hurts.’
‘Where does it hurt?’ Poppy adjusted the elastic to hold the nasal prongs in place.
‘It’s me chest and arm that’s killing me.’
‘Do you know what day it is?’ Matt flicked on his penlight.
‘Sunday. I remember everything up to the moment the idiot hit me.’
Matt flashed the light into his patient’s eyes. ‘Pupils equal and reacting.’
Jen tried to ease Daryl’s shirt off but resorted to scissors when Daryl couldn’t move his arm without flinching. The soft material separated, revealing purple bruising all over the thin man’s chest. The nurse gasped.
Matt looked up from the IV he was inserting, hating that he knew exactly what would have caused such trauma. ‘Steel-capped boots. Welcome to the seedier side of Bundallagong, Poppy.’
She attached electrodes to Daryl’s chest, and at the same time Matt knew she was examining the rise and fall of his chest given the complaint about pain on breathing. ‘Sinus tachycardia. Jen, organise for a chest and arm X-ray.’
‘On it.’ The nurse started to manoeuvre the portable X-ray machine into position.
While Poppy wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around their patient’s uninjured arm to enable automatic readings, Matt swung his stethoscope into his ears and listened to Daryl’s breathing. He could hear creps and he palpated a paradoxical movement of the chest wall. ‘Flail chest. I’ll insert prophylactic chest tubes.’
A frown furrowed her smooth, white brow. ‘Good idea but it’s the damage under the fractured ribs that worries me.’
Matt nodded. ‘We’re in agreement, then.’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
The words sounded precise and clipped, but her plump, berry-red lips twitched. Like the siren’s call, he felt his gaze tugged towards them again and wondered what they’d feel like to kiss.
The blood-pressure machine beeped loudly, ripping into his traitorous thoughts and grounding him instantly. He pulled his shame-ridden gaze away, reminding himself that he loved Lisa and he had a patient who needed his total concentration. ‘Pressure’s dropping.’
‘He’s bleeding somewhere.’ Poppy’s hands went direct to Daryl’s abdomen, her alabaster fingers, with their neatly trimmed nails devoid of polish, palpating expertly. ‘Any pain here?’
Daryl barely managed a negative movement of his head.
‘No guarding. It’s not his abdomen.’ Poppy’s frown deepened, making a sharp V between her expressive black brows. ‘His O2 sats aren’t improving. What about a haemothorax?’
‘If he does have that, it’s not massive because there’s no mediastinal shift or tracheal deviation.’
But the blood-pressure machine kept beeping
