crash—which didn’t even stop—I’ve seen no other car for hours.’
‘It’s a quiet little town in the middle of coastal bushland—and we’re on holiday.’ He was still watching her face, thinking the situation through. What next?
In the warm room Erin’s colour was starting to return. Her foot needed attention, as did her mass of cuts and bruises, but if she’d carried the dog for miles she must really care about it. Maybe triage said he ought to check.
‘If you’re okay for a minute, I’ll see what’s happening to your dog.’
‘Would you?’ She closed her eyes. ‘I think he’s dying. He was moving when I picked him up—he sort of moaned—but he didn’t struggle.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Dom said, and put his hand on her cheek in a fleeting gesture of reassurance. ‘Don’t move.’ He tucked the rug more tightly round her, pulled a couple more logs onto the fire then left, leaving the door wide so she could watch him.
Her eyes followed him. She must love the dog a lot to carry him with her foot like that, he thought. It’d be good if he could do something. But, like she’d said, the dog looked close to death.
The creature hadn’t moved. Dom flicked the hall light on so he could see him better and stooped over the limp form.
He wasn’t dead yet. Neither was he unconscious. The dog’s eyes were huge. He looked up at Dominic and his expression was almost imploring.
If there was one thing Dom was a sucker for it was a dog, especially a dog in trouble. And this one was really in trouble. ‘Hey,’ Dominic said softly, and put a finger gently behind the dog’s soft ear. He scratched gently. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’
He liked this dog on sight. It was mix of English bulldog and something he didn’t know. Part bulldog, part mutt? Dog ugly in every sense of the word. He looked a bit like Winston Churchill, missing the cigar.
But he didn’t smile at the thought. The situation was too serious.
Tending an injured dog had problems not normally associated with people, the main one being their propensity to bite. This one looked beyond biting, but Dom sensed that even when he was well this dog would be docile. His eyes followed him with absolute trust.
But, hell, he must be hurt. Why wasn’t he moving?
A few months ago Dom had attended a guy who’d come off his bike onto gravel. That’s what this dog looked like—he’d been dragged along the road. His coat was a mass of scratches, some deep. His mistress was in a much better state than he was.
What was so wrong that the dog couldn’t move?
He’d laid the dog on the doormat and the dog had slumped so his legs were facing the wall. Now Dom carefully pulled the mat around—with dog attached—so he could get a clear view of the dog’s joints. A smashed leg would explain immobility.
But his legs were fine. Or…not. Here at last was information to enter in his patient’s history. In Dom’s expert medical opinion, these were her legs.
‘What’s your dog’s name?’ he called back into the sitting room.
‘You tell me and we’ll both know,’ the woman muttered, and Dominic thought he needed to give her something for pain.
But suddenly his attention switched back to the dog. For, as he watched, a ripple ran across its limp body. The muscle contraction was unmistakable.
From a little bit of information suddenly he had a lot of information. Too much. This dog was not male and she was not fat. She was heavily pregnant and by the look of her body she was in labour.
Great, Dom thought. Fantastic. Half an hour ago he’d been bored to snores. Now he had a wounded woman lying on his sitting-room settee, and a pregnant bitch who was showing every sign of dying unless he could do something about it. And the last vet had left Bombadeen back in 1980. Via the graveyard.
Okay, he needed a history. He rose, striding swiftly back into the sitting room. ‘I need to know…’ he started, but at the look on Erin’s face he changed priorities again and headed for his surgery. That foot would be excruciatingly painful. His surgery was at the back of the house, accessed through his study. Two minutes later he was back, hauling his bag open, retrieving what he needed.
‘Sorry,’ he said, kneeling beside Erin and lifting the rug back a little. ‘I shouldn’t have let the dog distract me. I’m giving you something for the pain. Are you allergic to anything?’
‘No, I—’
‘No reaction to morphine?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then let’s stop things hurting,’ he said. He should set up a mask but he was forming priorities as he went. A mask meant he’d need to stay with her while she slowly gained the level of pain relief she needed. But he had a birth on his hands. She had brought the dog, after all.
‘I don’t need morphine,’ she muttered.
‘Tell me it’s not hurting.’
She hesitated. Then, ‘It’s hurting,’ she conceded.
‘You came to the doctor’s. I assume that’s because you were looking for medical help.’
‘Your house is the first house out of bushland. But when I saw your sign… I was looking for help with the dog.’
‘I’m not a vet. I’ll do my best for her, but—’
‘Her?’
‘Her. But we’ll get you sorted first. I’ll give you something to stop the vomiting as well.’ He hesitated, his eyebrows still raised. Waiting for her agreement. She looked at the syringe. Then she winced again and nodded.
‘I suspect you’ve been brave enough for a lifetime tonight,’ he said gently, swabbing her thigh. ‘I need to go back to your dog but can you quickly tell me what happened?’
‘I’m on my way to Campbelltown,’ she said, closing her eyes as the needle went in. Then opening them again. ‘Hey, not bad. That hardly hurt.’
‘I’m a doctor,’ he said, and smiled. ‘It’s what I do. So then?’
She was still having trouble talking. Shock, exhaustion and fear had taken quite a toll. ‘Anyway, I’d sort of deviated from the main Campbelltown route. I…I needed thinking time. So I didn’t know the road. And then there was a car in front of me. An ancient car that trailed smoke. It was weaving as if the driver was drunk. It was just after dark. The road was narrow near the cliffs beside the river, and suddenly the rear door of the car opened and the dog was thrown out.’
‘Thrown…’
‘They pushed him,’ she said, horror flooding into her voice as she recalled. ‘Right into the path of my car. I would have hit him but I swerved.’
‘You went over the cliff!’ She must have. The road by the river left no room for error.
‘What
