He glanced across at her, his grey eyes pensive. ‘I see.’
She rather thought he saw more than she wanted him to. That it hadn’t simply been a desire to return to the island where she’d been born which had brought her back when her father had died three years ago. It had been a desire to follow in his footsteps, to be as good a doctor as he had been.
And why shouldn’t she want that? she asked herself as they drove through the dark countryside. She’d adored her father, had always loved the island and its people. Why shouldn’t she want to emulate him?
Yes, it was tough sometimes, being permanently on call. And, yes, there were days when she was so bone-weary it took all her strength to drag herself down to the health centre, but she couldn’t have borne it if a stranger had taken over her father’s practice. She had to succeed. She simply had to.
‘Where do we go for the A and E unit?’ Ezra asked when they finally arrived outside the imposing Edwardian building which housed the Sinclair Memorial Hospital.
‘There isn’t one as such,’ Jess replied, sucking in her breath sharply as he carried her up the steps. ‘But if you ring the bell at Reception Fiona should come.’
The staff nurse did, and the minute she saw them her face crumpled in dismay. ‘Oh, my word…!’
‘I’m OK, Fiona, honestly,’ Jess interrupted quickly. ‘I just took a corner too fast and landed in a ditch. I think I’ve fractured my right tibia—possibly my patella as well.’
‘Not to mention having also acquired a very nasty bump on your forehead.’ Fiona’s eyes drifted towards Ezra. ‘And you are…?’
‘The drug dealer,’ he replied blandly. ‘Or the axe murderer—take your pick.’
‘Ezra Dunbar!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You’ve taken Sorley McBain’s holiday cottage—’
‘For the next three months.’ He nodded with resignation. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Well, thank goodness you did,’ Fiona declared, lowering Jess carefully into a wheelchair, then pushing her through a door marked X-RAYS. ‘We islanders don’t tend to go out much in the evening in winter and heaven knows how long Jess might have been stuck in her car if you hadn’t happened along.’
‘I didn’t exactly happen—’
‘Would you mind staying with Jess until I get Bev and Will?’ Fiona continued. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
And before either of them could reply she was gone in a flurry of starched green cotton.
‘Bev is our part-time radiographer,’ Jess explained as a frown creased Ezra’s forehead. ‘Will’s her husband, and a first-rate anaesthetist, though how long we’ll be able to keep him is anybody’s guess. Our resident surgeon retired last year, you see, and we haven’t been able to replace him. I can do some surgery, but—’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Do what?’ she asked in confusion.
‘Tell her the accident was your fault?’
Jess eased herself gingerly round in her wheelchair. ‘I don’t think you’d have a very happy three months here if word got round that you’re the man who trashed the doctor’s car and landed her in hospital.’
The frown deepened. ‘But why should you care? Like you said, you don’t know me from Adam.’
She was hurting more and more by the second, and was in no mood to try to explain what she didn’t quite understand herself, but she managed to dredge up a smile. ‘Maybe I’m an old softy at heart. Maybe I’m just too sore to be able to think straight.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Didn’t I tell you to buy a decent car—well, didn’t I?’ Will Grant declared as he breezed into the X-ray department. ‘Buy a Volvo or a Range Rover, I said—’
‘Yes, we all know what you said, dear,’ his wife Bev interrupted, pushing past him, ‘and right now I don’t suppose Jess wants to hear you repeat it. Fractured right tibia and patella, you reckon?’ she continued, eyeing Jess critically, and when she nodded the radiographer frowned. ‘I’m not too happy about that bruise on your forehead. I think we’ll X-ray it as well.’
‘If you’re hoping to find any brains, I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ Ezra murmured, and Will laughed.
‘Too damned right. I’ve been telling this girl she’s an idiot for the past three years. Taking on her father’s practice—’
‘Look, could we just get on with this?’ Jess protested, scowling across at Ezra who, to her acute annoyance, merely smiled back.
It didn’t take long for Fiona to check her blood pressure and temperature, and it only took a few minutes more for Bev to process the X-rays.
‘Well, the bad news is you’ve definitely fractured your tibia and patella,’ the radiographer declared. ‘The good news is they’re both nice clean breaks, and I can’t see any indication of internal damage.’
Jess let out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. OK, so she’d broken her calf bone and kneecap, which would mean eight to ten weeks in plaster, but clean breaks meant she wouldn’t have to go to the mainland. Clean breaks and no internal injuries meant she could still take care of her patients.
‘My turn now.’ Will beamed, leading the way out of the X-ray department into the next room. ‘Time for a spot of good old reduction and plastering.’
‘But…but this is an operating theatre,’ Ezra declared, coming to a halt on the threshold.
‘We don’t have a plastering department,’ the anaesthetist explained. ‘Frankly, we’re lucky to have a hospital at all, considering the authorities would like nothing better than to shut us down. Centralisation of resources, they call it. In my opinion—’
‘Yes, dear, we all know your opinion,’ his wife sighed. ‘But right now Jess’s leg needs attending to.’
And Ezra Dunbar badly needed some fresh air, Jess thought as she glanced up at him and saw how white he had become. Delayed shock, her professional instincts diagnosed. OK, so he hadn’t been hurt in the accident, but he had been involved and the knowledge of what could have happened had obviously just hit him.
‘Don’t you think it might be better if you waited outside?’ she said gently.
He thrust his hands through his hair and she saw they were shaking. Delayed shock, indeed. And delayed shock in a very big way.
‘I—Right…Fine,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll…I’ll see you later, then.’
And before she could say anything else, he was gone.
Will stared after him for a second, then chuckled as he loaded a syringe with short-acting anaesthetic. ‘Well, who’d have thought it? A big, strapping chap like that coming over all queasy and not even a drop of blood in sight!’
