He turned away and surreptitiously checked his phone. Sure enough, no reception. Okay, he conceded. No ambulance.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, trying to figure where to start.
‘Maggie. We’re wasting time.’
‘How pregnant are you?’
‘Thirty-two weeks.’ And all of a sudden there was a quaver in her voice. ‘He’s okay.’
‘Can you feel him?’ Even asking that hurt, he thought. Hell, he’d lost his son six years ago. Would he ever get over it?
Luckily she’d only heard his professional question. ‘Yes.’ But there was still the quaver. ‘He’s kicking.’
‘Good.’ Kicking was good. But as Maggie had said, he needed to check the heartbeat. He wanted a stethoscope. Add it to the list, he thought grimly. Ambulance, X-rays, stethoscope, ultrasound, a medical team to take over while he walked away.
It wasn’t going to happen. Meanwhile, there was the small problem of the mess blocking the road.
‘If someone else comes round this bend…’ he said, trying to figure out priorities.
‘It’s not used much,’ she told him. ‘But there’s the odd out-of-towner stupid enough to try and get to the highway this way.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
She winced. ‘Sorry. Yes, that was rude. But we do need to clear the road.’ She stared across at the mess. ‘You’ll need help pulling the crate out of the way. Hang on.’ And she put her hands onto the ground to push herself up.
‘No!’ He was down beside her in an instant, taking a shoulder in each hand and pressing back.
And his preconceptions were changing all over the place. At first he’d thought she was little more than a teenager, like the young mothers he saw clustered outside the prenatal clinics near his consulting suite in the hospital he worked in. They were mostly scared kids, forced by pregnancy into growing up too fast, but the more he saw of this woman the more he acknowledged maturity. There were lines etched around her eyes-smile lines that had taken time to grow. And more. Life lines?
She looked like a woman who’d seen a lot, he thought suddenly.
She wasn’t beautiful-not in the traditional sense-and yet the eyes that met his as he pushed her back down onto the verge were clear and bright and almost luminous. They were eyes to make a man take another look.
And then another.
‘Hey, let me up,’ she ordered, as if sensing the inappropriate direction his thoughts were taking, and he came to with a snap.
‘You want that leg to swell so far I have to lance it to take the pressure off?’
Her eyes widened. ‘What the…?’
‘You’re bleeding into the back of your knee,’ he said. ‘If it gets any worse you’ll have circulation problems. I want it X-rayed. And like you, I’m worrying about the baby. You need an ultrasound.’
‘You’re a doctor?’ Her voice was incredulous.
‘For my pains,’
‘Well, how about that?’ she whispered, sounding awed. ‘A doctor, and a bossy one at that. A surgeon, I’ll bet.’
‘Sort of, but-’
‘They’re the worst. Look, if I promise to sign insurance indemnity, can I get up?’
‘No.’
‘The crate…’
‘I’ll move the truck.’
‘You and whose army?’
‘Just shut up for a minute,’ he said, irritated, and there was her smile again.
‘Yes, Doctor.’
The words were submissive but the smile wasn’t. It was a cute smile. Cheeky. Pert. Flashing out despite her fear.
‘You’re a nurse,’ he demanded, suspicious.
‘No, Doctor,’ she said, still submissive, still smiling, though there was no way she could completely disguise the look of pain and fear behind her eyes. ‘But you need to let me help.’
‘In your dreams,’ he growled, disarmed by her smile and struggling to keep a hold on the situation. Worst-case scenario-she could go into labour.
Or she could lose the baby.
Another death…
He needed a medical kit. Usually he carried basic first-aid equipment but his friends’ luggage had filled the trunk and the back seat. Fiona and Brenda. No medicine this weekend, they’d said, and they’d meant it.
Women. And here was another, causing trouble.
But, actually, Maggie wasn’t causing trouble, he conceded, or no more than she could help. She looked like there was no way she’d complain, but he could see the strain in her eyes.
Okay, he told himself. Move. This woman needs help and there’s only me to give it.
‘I meant what I said about keeping still,’ he told her. ‘I have work to do and you’ll just get in the way. So stay!’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly, but he didn’t believe the meekness for a minute.
There wasn’t a lot of choice. In truth, Maggie’s leg hurt so much she was feeling dizzy. She lay back on the grass and tried not to think about the consequences of what had just happened and how it might have affected her baby. That was truly terrifying. She tried not to think how Gran would be needing pain relief, and how she’d been away from home for far too long. She thought about how her leg felt like it might drop off, and that she wouldn’t mind if it did.
If this guy really was a doctor he might have something in the back of his fancy car that’d help.
He really was a doctor. He had about him an air of authority and intelligence that she knew instinctively was genuine. He was youngish-mid-thirties, she guessed-but if she had to guess further she’d say he was in a position of power in his profession. He’d be past the hands-on stage with patients-to a point in his profession where seniority meant he could move back from the personal.
She wasn’t a bad judge of character. This guy seemed competent-and he was also seriously attractive. Yeah, even in pain she’d noticed that, for what woman wouldn’t? He was tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous. But also he seemed instinctively aloof? Why?
But this was hardly the time for personal assessments of good-looking doctors. The pain in her leg stabbed upward and she switched to thinking what the good-looking doctor might have in the back of his car that might help.
What could she take this far along in pregnancy? Her hands automatically clasped her belly and she flinched. No.
‘We need to get through this without drugs,’ she whispered to her bump. ‘Just hang in there.’
There was an answering flutter from inside, and her tension eased slightly. The seat belt had pulled tight across her stomach in the crash. There’d been an initial flutter, but she wanted more. This flutter was stronger, and as she took a deep breath the flutter became a kick.
Great! Maybe her baby hadn’t noticed the crash or, if he had, he was kicking in indignation.
‘We’ll be okay,’ she whispered for what must be the thousandth time in her pregnancy. ‘Me and you and the world.’
And she had a doctor at hand. A gorgeous one.
But gorgeous or not, doctor or not, the guy had no time for medicine right now, and her training had her agreeing with him. Triage told her that unless her breathing was impaired or she was bleeding to death, the road had to be cleared. Someone could speed around the corner at any minute and a minor accident could become appalling.
But how could he move the crate? It was blocking the road in such a way it stopped both the car and the truck from being moved. He couldn’t lift it.
He didn’t. As she watched, he put his shoulder against it, shoving harder than she’d thought possible.
The crate was about eight feet long by six feet wide, iron webbing built around a floor of heavy iron. It had been on the back of the truck for the last twenty years. She’d had no idea it could come loose.
Gran hadn’t told her that. There were lots of things Gran hadn’t told her, she thought grimly, a long litany of deception. In fact, Maggie’s decision to have this baby had been based partly on Gran’s deceit.
But there was no way she could yell at Gran now. In truth, she was so worried about the old lady she felt sick.